Working on one of my new full sized movie poster interpretations. I couldnāt find any of my fountainĀ pens, but then I remembered an old needle I saved back with the point broken off. I had held onto it because, I donāt know. A keepsake I guess, to remind myself of those times, even if I donāt want to remember them. it worked wonderfully for what I needed it for. I wish I had a sharp one so I could do something in more detail with it. Iām sure I can still get one, I just wonder if thatās a good idea. Itās weird how this stuff works, I donāt want to use it for anything else, right now, but I have to admit, it felt wonderful to just draw some fluid out of a cup with it. After a few minutes I could feel a pressure growing in my stomach and had to sit down at the toilet. Just farted around, shot out a few turd fragments that probably wouldnāt have made it out till my daily morning shit. Sometimes I would have to fix up on the shitter. If it had been a long time between shots my guts would just drop the second I scored anything. I always worried Iād get some filth on my fingers somehow and wind up getting some fecal bacteria in my shot... Wind up dead with endocarditis, but that idea wasnāt as bad as the notion of waiting those few extra minutes to end the fucking pain. None the less, it felt good to repurpose this object for something positive. My art was a major reason I stopped. I wouldnāt work on opiates, I just laid in a pile of trash in my trailer and did a million washes on every little brown or orange piece of filter I had. I want to be a successful artist so I can do all that stuff AFTER Iāve put in all the years of hard work and dedication to deserve it.
amandla
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
2087