#mevel

[gebo4482]

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania by Calum Alexander Watt

Artstation

[mevel1993]

#art #graffiti #streetstyle #mevel #grog20mm #dopeink #dopeliquid #snlc #meveltagmaster https://www.instagram.com/p/BoPjf_DHeEn/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=yu9fy3yfj5dz

[mevel1993]

#tagmyname #art #graffiti #mevel #whiteink https://www.instagram.com/p/BmyL9MbHaiy/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1d92st6falxbg

[mevel1993]

День ВДВ 2 Августа 2018г. я запомню надолго! Спасибо за компанию и новое знакомство @stame2 #graffiti #art #mevel #style #snlc #color #mtn94 #kobra #mevelone #dnipro #artday

[storiesofmevel-blog]

Scattered Couplets of a Gishi Merchant

I sat in the crook of a tree on a hill, Clutched a fist full of green on and ivied wall,

Bartered spice and labor in a storm of sand, Bathed in the murky scum of a cattle pond,

Winked and laughed with tiny faces, small but once, Cracked the silty film off my leggings to dance,

Stared into treetopped bowls and barren chasms, Bore another's soul in union and schism,

Held tight my regrets and built them around me, Left myself in my own disposition's mist,

Passed in circadian haze from life to death, Saw my mother and father for the last time,

Clawed and despaired at fences of hours, years, Drank life's sublimity in an earthy bar,

Pierced and killed an innocent beast in cold blood, Lost a love on the tip of another's blade,

Lost a bit of string beneath a large brown bed, Pierced a bit of cloth to mend the fraying edge,

Drank more than I could manage more times than twice, Clawed my reddened skin against the twitching grass,

Saw my mother and father for the first time, Passed in liminal days from birth to death,

Left a small offering of food for the squirrels, Held a small hand in my own to feel the world,

Bore deep into a hillside to hide from life Stared longer than any should in fruitless lust,

Cracked open an almond in a schooner's hull, Winked from ethereal to material,

Bathed in light of fiery sun and tired moon, Bartered away my fortune to a false god,

Clutched the tooth of the beast as it tore my flesh I saw the light come and I saw the tides crash.

[storiesofmevel-blog]

Plea of the Fela, Quab Invasion, Second Epoch

There is no east can break my nightmare, There is no west can lend me sleep, There is no north can douse the fire, There is no south can hang the fallen leaf .

O, four-petal'd rose with your back to the sea,

Drop your helical rhumbtail and I will grasp it tight, Drop your leadline unto me and I will ascend, Drop your stars and I will take a sight.

O, Charter, plat me not, and plat not my brother,

Still your pen across the leaves across the earth, Still your peg and rope across the earth across the heavens.

O, Brother, leave me not,

Leave me not to the charter.

[storiesofmevel-blog]

Compiled Proverbs of the Fela

The brain Of bark may know The grain behind its back Though dark the grain may be to flesh And bone.

-Ubiquitous

Our feet Untangled by Unrav'ling knot of time May coil once again; it does Not weigh.

-Ilus

Time spent Among the birds is Time spent flying. Time spent Among the dead is time slowly Dying.

-Vinicka

Let go Your god, let go Your Stone to gild the throne Beneath you. Go into the mire And bathe.

-Ubiquitous

Like ice Among the cracks Of boulders I will pry The ersatz to the sand and to The wind.

-Tinsul

[storiesofmevel-blog]

Quabian Sonnet, dated to the First Epoch

With the fog of the hollows my love for Ila lies, sitting as a murked shelter;

With the weathered stone of these glassy ramparts, still and constant;

With the disked puddles, low and marbled out along the dell;

With the blackgum and hemlock and cypress, slipping forth into the fog in fingered hope;

With the ghost of the sun, pale and peering in the limbcracked canopy;

With the silted belly of the mire, stretched tight across the earth in a gossamer film;

With the ruined corpses coated in gossamer film, made irreverent only by their graves;

With the blood of war, spilt and congealed as the mother of the turf it feeds;

With the arbitrary shadows of the tilted gnomon, passing but never waning;

With the flaming hatred of the fair skinned and silver tongued, steady as the gnomon;

With the pastel march of seasons, rising and falling as the sea;

With the fleshing beams and knives, dull only in the dreams of the craftsman;

With the crooked stretchers, tanning skin taught along their length, straining to rest;

With the veiny retreat of the daylight, cold in senescence and warm in reminiscence.