My Moth boy, raised by a mantis outside of Hallownest! Silece is very Feisty, acting more like how you’d imagine a Mantis, rather than a moth. He is also unaware of the chaos that has destroyed Hallownest.
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My Moth boy, raised by a mantis outside of Hallownest! Silece is very Feisty, acting more like how you’d imagine a Mantis, rather than a moth. He is also unaware of the chaos that has destroyed Hallownest.
I haven’t been around much to draw because of some medical complications but here are some doodles I did by request of my friend @poofiepomsky ft. his oc and some bonus shitposts I scribbled while on a call with some buds:
"I know you've heard it a thousand times before. But it's true--hard work pays off. If you want to be good, you have to practice, practice, practice. If you don't love something, then don't do it." Great Year ahead, all I can say Work Hard, do what you are passionate about, and things will be falling into place. Sometimes Silence is your Best Friend.😃 . . . . . . . . #hardwork #silece #hustle #joy #greatyear #2021 https://www.instagram.com/p/CLpc4KbFj4y/?igshid=41hl9n4yisol
Esto me recuerda a... #silece #shh #bobo #tonto #fools #fool #instagram
Cogli questa grande, enorme, intelligente, utile, saggia, luminosa, seducente, piacevole opportunità. Taci.
Mi piace quando piove forte. È come essere avvolti da un rumore indistinto, continuo, che mi ricorda il silenzio ma non è vuoto come il silenzio.
Christopher Boone
Question: Define Complexity
This piece was inspired by “The Meaning of Simplicity” by Yannis Kitsos. I’ll post the source poem later.
I reveal myself in my complexities,
so you can see me;
know my laugh
the bubbling of noise before the joyous exclamation
and you will see my light.
know my whispering of sadness,
the whimpering of a tired mind before the rain
and you will wear my shadow.
see all of me, our souls will be braided together
twin plaits, opalescent in the shimmering moon
The spring sun, gently warms
the cast iron pavement (it is that way
because of our gentle whispers)
it shimmers on the horizon
warming the silence--
but the silence is not always warm
Every silence is a bridge across a river,
one often flooded.
That’s when the tears are true;
when the river is a trickle to the sea.