|Please do not use my art without my explicit permission.|
Peeling a Potato-Shaped YouI picked you up from a gutter in radioactive Russia. Somehow, you had fallen out of the body-bag you were carried in, and I nearly kicked you further into the muck. I heard your pleas though, begging for my hands to pick you up. They ate a hole in the fabric and sent you rolling before my feet. In normal circumstances, that would never happen, but there is nothing normal about a world covered in grief.Peeling a Potato-Shaped You by julietcaesar
You were a real piece of work. It's got to be expected after all, in these parts, but you were still fascinating all the same. For instance, you were covered in that signature brown dirt. Most of the time, it was brushed neatly before you were zipped up. But you'd been out too long in the open and it showed. Reptilian shoots punched through your skin and waved like a many-armed grotesque plant. They looked like bleached coral that decided to grow out of your flesh rather than in the nutrient-rich sea. As I ran my fingers over your suppurating sores, I wondered why I picked up the sort of
I am a recent graduate of teacher's college.|
I come from Romania.
I am lepidopterophobic.
I enjoy reading science fiction.
I have a somewhat morbid curiosity.
Most of my artwork is based on lyrical quotes or song/album titles. Some of it is simply the product of brain farts.
I am fond of:
Drawing, writing, naps, money, psychology, feminism, mythology, witty cynicism, organizing, music, cats, white russians, dancing, reading negative reviews of movies I hated
I frown upon:
The city bus, women portrayed as sexpots devoid of personality in any form of media, obnoxiously furry boots (unless they are worn by vikings), butterflies, junebugs, celery, hipsters, stupid drivers
Bedlam (originally Bethlem) was an asylum built in London, where “patients” were kept in deplorable conditions and served as a passing attraction for rich visitors. Ever since I learned about Bedlam, I’ve been fascinated (and horrified) by it. I figured it’d be a suitable name for a degenerate, everything-goes gladiatorial arena.
On another note... The identity of the mystery caller on page 9 of this chapter is revealed!