My Picasa albums contain samples of work, school or 'just for fun' projects. It ain't sexy -which is why I haven't put it all on DA- but if you're still reading you must be bored - so might as well take a look.
Winter's TrailWhen last you walk on winter's trail,Winter's Trail by bupaje
and reach the highest snowy pass,
to stare beyond the veil of ice
at hidden valley's wonder
You'll have some time to turn your head
and read a tale of slips and falls
rime brightened and inked
on frosty Gaia's landscape.
A life thus spied, from airy height
is given form by distance,
joys and regrets, once estranged
now bound like storied pages.
No single footprint writes the verse
that tells the traveler's legend,
each choice, each deed
a word inscribed, to infamy or glory.
I hope that when you reach that place,
you'll smile at what was written,
turn your heel, pick up the pace
and to far mountain hasten.
Where Goes the Mismatched Man?Where goes the mismatched man,Where Goes the Mismatched Man? by bupaje
who passed me on my way?
His seven fingered hands were coal
his yard long toes were clay.
His knotted wooden head was oak,
thrust up like Moby breaching.
His shoulders seemed a parapet,
far beyond my reaching.
I trembled as he thundered by,
so daunting was his strangeness,
he seemed to be, made of spare parts,
malevolent and brainless.
With torso wide as sandy beach
and legs like redwood lumber.
I thought for sure, he'd eat me whole,
then lay down for a slumber.
Just before he disappeared
he turned, our eyes connected,
his story flashed within my mind,
it was totally unexpected.
He goes where others cannot see
for fear of drawing laughter.
while tears like tiny waterfalls,
trail down his chin thereafter.
They flood his beard of mossy green,
filled with salamanders,
while riotous robes of lichen hide
what on his chest meanders.
He spies us from the wilderness,
while we are busy living
and wishes he could joi
The Gray ManThe gray manThe Gray Man by bupaje
like empty spider shells
like bleached cattle skulls.
a setting sun rages bright
while incipient night
before the blaze.
A knowing few
eyes set on the horizon,
behold the beauty
of day descending.
Take heed of those
you deem irrelevant.
lies not only
in the early morning
of its passage
but in the fullness
of its end.
Here is a really fascinating and potentially useful site. Ambient Mixer allows you listen to a mix of user created audio files and also adjust, add, mix, listen to and download the files. As an example I am writing a story and was searching for the sounds a wooden sailing ship as I don't have ready access to a ship to experience it for myself. Here is one user created mix.
I think you can imagine all the ways this might be useful.
I like brushes and textures - not sure why- but I do. One of the things I've played with in the past is creating what I call 'brush wheels.' For example I'll combine several weed and plant brushes in a wheel, then set the brush to 'rotation' and paint away. To illustrate I went to midnightstouch DeviantArt page, used a few of his plant brushes to create a wheel like this.
Then I set the brush angle to rotation (you can play with other settings of course), and quickly paint a nice mixed row of plants.
Simple. I know - but sometimes the simplest tricks can be very useful.