i dont think we should privatize or colonize space. we shouldnt do it anywhere why are we doing it out there. stop it haven't u seen a gundam?
WOW, COOL ROBOT etc etc
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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Anonymous User asked: I was wondering if you happen to have any basic advice for someone just starting out with art/drawing.
Also I wanted to say that I love your work, it fills me with tinglies every time I look at it and you're easily in the top 3 artists I look up to and strive to even be 10% as capable as!
Hope you have a good day!
srsly though, that's the only thing i can tell u that is actually good advice if you're just starting. everyone's journey is different because everyone starts and ends in different places. i'm largely self-taught; there's nothing i can teach you that you can't teach yourself with enthusiasm and curiosity. just keep at it and it won't take very long for you to compare the new stuff to the old stuff and realise how quick you start improving
yeah this is it, this is the mood, like once you are good enough I think there are more directed things you can do like study specific art styles and try to learn from specific techniques but the first like 2-3 years of drawing really are "draw a fucking lot"
if only my fucking Brain would let me write A Lot instead of Occasionally
Starship pilot who whispers to the stars. Sometimes, they even whisper back.
It's simple; any alchemist could tell you. The stars are voidborne mountains of pure fire, and substances are also meanings.
Fire is also yearning.
We sing to the stars, those dreaming pyre-intelligences, those hot hearts of the cold sky. We sing to them, and stir in them a thrill of love for us, and so they pluck us from across the impassable distance of the cosmos to keep them company for a while in their burning slumber.
The art of spacefaring comes in being a coquette, but not too serious, for if they wake too far they become fiery sirens, singing back: and in their regard we become one mirror of two, reflecting the other's conflagration of feeling endlessly back and forth until we — we, inevitably, not them — are destroyed.
Love the stars, pilot; you have to. But do not love the stars too much. Do not rouse them to call back to you, and do not answer if they sing. Stuff your ears, take sleeping draughts, have your crew lash you to a spar to keep you from the controls. The sundive is not a love you can survive.
Do not doom your crew to the siren's aria of conflagrante delicto.
This Rango sequel idea is weird, but I'm on board.
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