me: wow I thought of an idea for a shorter comic I’m really excited about, I got the plot hammered out, I have time to work on it, the drawing part should be fun!
my hands: lol bitch u thought
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Portugal

seen from Singapore
seen from Russia

seen from Singapore
seen from China

seen from T1
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Finland

seen from Australia
seen from Denmark

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from China
me: wow I thought of an idea for a shorter comic I’m really excited about, I got the plot hammered out, I have time to work on it, the drawing part should be fun!
my hands: lol bitch u thought
I gave an oc a different hairstyle and accidentally made them way hotter than intended what do
When you draw someone you look up too but you kinda really hate the picture cause the face looks weird but you like the rest of it and you already sent them a message asking if they'd like to see it ...... 😩
Seven Strokes of Ambivalence for Pen and Stick
Seminar: Seven Strokes of Ambivalence for Pen and Stick
Venue: The Fictional Museum of Drawing
Room XCa
Please note that on this occassion you will be expected to dress as one of the following Seven Strokes:
Needing a pencil and a piece of paper untold wet leaves impressed upon the paper that the line was artificial.
This one drafted in silence, whispering movements of air in fear of being overheard. Spots of rain and an embarrassing wind spoke of the stale ketchup, oiled fingernails, and an illuminated clock that spattered the surface whilst white crystals collected in pockets to echo the whining mandolin.
Succeeding lazy night light mists speak to the dust tradition and as they hunt instinct and the smell of dawn they draw the frosted breath of early risers and presume the day will not die of old age.
While coasts breathe upon the beach and count reflections for the sake of an image this stroke has no relaxing set of knuckles yet will augment with a wash tomorrow hoping it will arrive in time.
Muddled by the bye-bye man and framed by their land in nod, marks pickle their freedom out of posterity.
A thought faces its formless shape and waiting on my wings a figure gazed, muted by visual sound and laughs, ‘we’re out of time’.
For stickle leave us at back pools with no passages of further lines for they have gone to the dry stream bed hoping for clouds of smoke or a last line gnawing.