There are days I feel good enough about my art that I start sending out samples, trying to get work. On those days, my skin is so thick, rejections don’t phaze me; I just send my samples elsewhere and hope to catch someone off guard. This is not one of those days. I’ve been looking at other artists’ work, since I’ve been mostly unproductive. It’s akin to a writer reading other authors when the typewriter sits silent. But the more…
Yes, I take requests… A larger version is available for desktop wallpaper, but if you want an even bigger version—say, 1600 x 1200, for instance—you will have to e-mail me, as it’s over 800 kbs. My e-mail address is in the About page. Share this post:
It’s just a little phobia, so little it has no need to be called a phobia really. It’s just the sort of thing that makes the nose crinkle up and the top lip curl, the sort of thing that makes the shoulders rise in tension and the whole body shudder, the sort of thing, really, that makes one inhale all the oxygen within ten miles in an ungodly—but tiny!—gasp. It’s nothing, really. Just a little dislike. And it’s not like…
When asked what my super hero power would be, if I could have one, I would normally answer with flight—the kind of flying that Superman and Peter Pan do, unaided, unfettered, and easy as pie. It’s a superpower with which I am fairly comfortable, as I often flew in my nightly dreams when I was a kid. In fact, for a long time, I was almost completely certain that I’d be pretty good at it, what with all the practice…
Oh, hell. That’s nothing. I’ve had several male gynos in the course of my life, and while my first choice—when I’m presented with one—is always a female doctor, I’ve found that on the whole (on the hole?!), male gynos really aren’t any better or any worse. They do, however, tend to have a more gentle touch; I once had a female doctor totally dig in without mercy while doing the finger prod, after which I immediately changed doctors to avoid…