A moment of reprieve...
How quickly things can change in little or no time + the devastating/wonderful consequences that can result from those changes.

You want to know what i feel is one of the coolest things about life?
That you can figure + plan to the unth, but usually what happens is something you never counted on or dreamed of.



He became what she feared.

This could have easily been an illustration of something scary-scary, rather than funny-scary. Masks show us who we are. Horror is much stronger when you are expecting it. 


-jahh / Parallel Chances Tend to Neglect


It is one thing to have a bolt of inspiration, quite another to have a sharp pencil to wrangle the story. 
Jeff over at his Irre(2x)  blog seems to have both quite often.
A while ago i offered him a choice of inmates from Asylum Notes, a WIP, asking to lend his voice as character vignettes.
Being up for play, he chose all three.
What's pulled below is from Jeff's forthcoming, The Hidden Conversation: In Abstract, a different angle on the same illustrations. Up on his blog mid-December.


Just go with it. Like a river. Life's a river. Why fight it? The currents only stop when there's a need to.
Until some engineer invented the dam.


Creations, creator. Sort of a banal combination of words. Repetition sucks, but such is life. We are doomed to repeat history.

Then again, some good things happened in history. Does repeating those constitute doom?

Why be picky? It all winds up in the same place. 
The toilet. 
Or maybe the dirt. Or, heck, the pavement. Depending on if anyone's looking. Funny how manners are dictated by who else is around. Isn't anyone well-behaved for their own sakes these days?


STONE is what it’s made of.

We found St. Peter’s square to be a rock growing out of the water. Settling on grand, but undecided as whether or not to fully emerge.

Pause for a blur of ingenious riot of costumes.

The Venetian Carnival trip was couched around shooting long exposures w/ a 120slr. We dressed as dark whirling Dervish + spun on top of a canal bridge at midnight under the hazy street lamps.

We awoke on a stone bench in the morning mist lost on the island of St. Peter’s. Carnivale was over. KB looked great in long johns + a tux shirt w/ the collar up + the french cuffs down to accommodate his lengthy arms. He carried himself like a dancer + when he stopped he always looked as though he were posing.

Those images are vividly burned into my mind because the film had not advanced.

There isn’t proof any of it ever happening.