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.
One TreeTodayOne Tree by bupaje
I saw one tree
of strong wood
of old cardboard
a family dwelt
sees one world
a shameful wall
Carnivorrr"Carnivorrrr..."Carnivorrr by bupaje
William jumped, and looked around nervously. What the heck? I'm hearing things now.
Probably the gosh awful stink from all these cow pancakes. He continued using the branch to scrape the malodorous turd from his expensive shoes.
That damn horse had crossed in front of him and forced him to veer into the ditch. Now here he was slogging across some dirt merchants field. Yeesh.
He spun around. "Hello?" He heard some scuttling behind one of the dilapidated wooden buildings. Must be one of the farmer's manure covered kids. He snickered at the thought.
The barn door was open so he stuck his head in and called out again "Hello?" No sense getting shot by some overall wearing sheep poker with an IQ of 2. He saw some vague shapes in the dark. "Is anyone there? My car veered off the road and into the ditch out front, I'm hoping you can help pull me out."
He was ticked now. Running late and smelling like No
We See the CrownAge is the oceanWe See the Crown by bupaje
that hides the bulk
of the iceberg
that is a man's life.
We see the crown
of snowy white
but not the blue
of buried roots.
Only the Narwhal
who dives beneath
sees echoed waves
of mountain grandeur.
Here Be DragonsThere are places not often seen by men today, forgotten as we rush about our tasks or battle with acrimonious and hate filled words. In older times these might be marked on a map with the words 'here be dragons'.Here Be Dragons by bupaje
Where are these places to be found at a time when our geography has never been more clear? Haven't we mapped the earth, the stars and the ocean? Haven't we charted molecules and the tangled threads of DNA? Haven't we explored the surface of the moon and the craters of Mars?
These forgotten lands, hidden behind an overgrowth of ignorance, are the lands of our own hearts. By focusing on that which has little value we weigh the worth of the world, and its people, with short weights and false scales. We pay our dues to others with shaved coins, cheating them of the full value of the love, respect, dignity, opportunity or material support which they are due.
It is time for us to leave the comfortable chairs and ideologies of our walled cities to become explorers again. Explorers of
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
I passed along my way?
His seven fingered hands were coal
his yard long toes were clay.
His knotted wooden head was oak,
thrust up - a great whale 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 wildern
Notes on Character DesignI received the question pictured below at my tumblr blog. In case it's useful to anyone here, I decided to go ahead and use this otherwise dormant journal to share the article I put together in response.tracyjb
Character design and drawing are tome-sized topics and even if I had all the answers (I don't - I have a lot to learn), I'm not sure I could communicate them effectively. Here are some thoughts an ideas that might help, though.
First, some general things...
Let some of that anxiety go. This isn't a hard science. There's no wrong way, no rigid process you must adhere to, no shoulds or shouldn'ts except those you designate for yourself. This is one of the fun parts of being an artist, really - have a heady good time with it.
- Be patient.
A design is something gradually arrived at. It takes time and iteration and revision. You'll throw a lot of stuff away, and you'll i
NaPo VIII. Oh MountainOh mountain, sought and sundered,LaBruyere
Peaceful river, flow
Take heed the coming thunder
And let my spirit go.
I've nothing not surrendered
To the tide or river rage.
My heart to hope is rendered
As a heartache's unpaid wage.
In an alien place
Of conquered nature
Of manufactured air
Hands of steel
Envelop my roots
My leaves are choking
My children fall in vain
In a cage of stone
A beauty for others
And their blind stupidity
I die each day
I slowly fade away
To the kidnapped earth
On my knees
I am shaking terrified
In this madness
In this false reality
I cry and plead
And hope for resurrection
By beings so ignorant
broken bones and broken birdsdragonflies buzz betweenSeamlessMaiden
your tangled fingers
seeking nectar under
your chewed nails,
but the bitter burn
of almond acid will
clip their mosaic wings.
you're centered at
nature's core, a
centrifugal force of gravity,
grasping and dragging
lives to your unforgiving
you strangled the wild
whistling hare underneath
the billowing willow, and
your tongue tripped into
compulsive lies and disbelief.
i mean c'mon, clearly,
it was an accident.
if that's the case
the blue-eyed raven
that crashed to earth
after striking a third
degree burn, should
have survived, but you
plucked feathers from its
wings and drowned it.
you have a way with
decaying everything you
touch, your soul, my
heart, a puppy in a
cardboard box, yet
we all keep coming
back to you.
i think we all know
that even though you
bend and break and
bully the world, you
are the most broken
of all, and i just want
to fix you.
some things are meant to be brokeni snatch at dog-eared love letters,SeamlessMaiden
molded and mashed together into
a string of mismatched desires,
revolving around you.
love is a dystopia—-the never-ending cycle
of unrequited i-love-yous,
little white lies,
and carpe diem whispering,
“life is too short.”
we romanticize the beating heart,
if it walks pretty and talks pretty
it’s obviously a strung-up puppet but—-
—-just maybe you can sew him up, the craft
of needle and thread to stitch a real boy.
i breathe against the windowpane,
tracing tales of the boy with wild eyes
and a wicked heart on the frozen mosaic glass
framed by the need to save you.
when it’s over i’ll morph
into a hollow shell of a girl, waiting
for a starry-eyed boy to
wish me back to life and—-
—-just maybe we can be real together.
What-up humanity?It's almost easy to see why people stop caring about anybody else and just start to look after número uno.LiamSharp
The world fosters it.
The media fosters it.
Consumerism fosters it.
And sometimes giving a shit just doesn't seem to pay dividends - it isn't the yin yang we hope for in our hippy days.
Good people can live miserable, forgotten lives.
Bastards can live and die like kings.
The universe doesn't care.
I remember hearing once that we are communists in our youth, socialists, then eventually conservatives in our selfish old age.
Nobody cares about the old, so speak your mind and take what you can get, that message suggests.
Your every thought of freedom was folly.
Every aspiration towards a better, more caring world was pointless.
Lock the doors.
Don't trust the strangers.
If you don't you're a damn fool.
Looking at groups like ISIS it's hard to argue an alternative point sometimes.
Where are we going so wrong?
I remember writing many little stories and drawing comic books. I jammed them into my drawers (my stepmother would routinely empty these into the trash as they filled up). I always expected to be a storyteller/explorer/inventor. Circumstances were such that this didn't work out. Now and then I did sit down to try to create the required outline and do all the planning. I never got much beyond that stage in my writing (except for occasional bouts of mediocre poetry).
This year I resolved that I would write. I went to a local writers meeting. I got fired up and and got all types of plans and charts - and even read more than half of the material. I did free writing exercises and made some new efforts at planning. I began some story board, drew some character ideas, researched various things on the web - and ended up with another few poems and yards of free-writing exercises but nothing started.
One day at lunch several weeks ago I said screw it. I'm getting old and going to be dropping dead soon and all of these stories are going to die with me. I started writing for my lunch hour. No plans. No outline. Nothing but one of the ideas that had been floating around in my head for years. Guess what? A story is coming out - not the one I imagined but another growing from the tiny seed of that first idea. I'm now about 20,000 words into it. Still no outline but I've been following the story and jotting down ideas and notes.
I still suck at sentence structure and planning. If you've read this you'll find errors and missing punctuation. No doubt I'll need to learn some but I think I re-learned the most important thing - something I knew as a kid.
If you want to be a writer - JUST WRITE! Sure, outline and plan if that's how your brain works, more power to you. But if your stuck at planning all the great things you are going to do. If your hung up on details so small that all your really doing is spinning your wheels in the mud, then screw it!
JUST WRITE! TODAY! NOW! DON'T THINK ABOUT IT, DO IT!
What's the worse that can happen?
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.