View allAll Photos Tagged BuzzKill
Stiff Belona Top and
Circe Pants are available at Stiff store. TAXI
Tantrum - Ericka Heels available on Tantrum MP store. HERE and Tantrum main store. TAXI
Go&See * Kooky * Bento pose #6. Full pack available at Go&See Main Store. TAXI.
Cardi: Lunar, Jojo
Hair: Platinum, Toxic
Tattoo: Corazon, Freya
Sphynx: Rezz Room
Sphynx Tattoo: Corazon, Luna
I lied awake for days
Counting all the ways I died
Everything I couldn't save
Buried down, still half alive
It's got me crawlin' in my skin
But no one's coming now to hold me close
Pourin' out the gasoline
Yeah, I've been makin' friends with all these ghosts
And I've got nothing left to lose
Fire to the fuse, yeah
Fire to the fuse
I'm sick and it's twisted
But I'm back with a match, yeah, I'm a buzzkill
With nothing to lose
I'm sinking my teeth in
And I won't let you go, we're not having fun 'til
You set fire to the fuse
_______________________
It's been a while since i've had the time to just chill and take a pic and I must say, this was hella fun and I'm proud of myself.
Items used in the pic are from Aii & Ego(Clothes & Accessories), Dura(Hair), DOUX(Hair), Avarosa(Eyes), ANC(Feathers), Voluptas Virtualis(Accessories), Core&Gore(Poses), and SixFeetUnder(Accessories)! I'll probably put the full credits in once im not half asleep :'D
On Kanae ...
Aii & Ego - Abyssal Flower / Shadowmancer Neck Collar / Holy Hell Feathers / Starfire Angel Wings
Cryptid - Warren's Grasp
SixFeetUnder - Esmeray Nose Piercings
On Neapolitan ...
Aii & Ego - Abyssal Flower / Holy Hell Feathers / Starfire Angel Wings / Frostbite Suit / Lily Devil Tail / Dreamy Downbrushed Lashes
Voluptas Virtualis - Saya / Aniera Arm Jewels
SixFeetUnder - Athame Nose Chain
Be sure to check out the High Quality Version :3
International leaders usually are the biggest buzzkills on CP, especially when something cool shows up, but this train was the opposite of that.
581 flies through the outskirts of Reeseville with 6644 leading two NS GEs
A northbound empty taconite rumbles into Munger on a brisk December morning. This train was supposed to have the Deathstar triple but the leader got BO'd due to poor heat and a trio of tunnel motors (BLE 906, 903, DMIR 409) were added instead.
Kind of a buzzkill, as I had a couple shots in mind for the Deathstar's that the light would have been ideal for; but I'll take a trio of T's any day.
RJ Corman Z543 creeps west towards Shelbyville with the two 50th anniversary commemorative SD70Ms on the point. This was the first revenue run of the repainted SD70s, and it likely means the reassignment of the tunnel motors is imminent. The 9059 being placed in between the two was definitely a buzzkill, but oh well.
Buddy was enjoying some primo catnip from the farm's education garden, but a dog came by to harsh his buzz. He's actually watching the dog, and I've stuck my camera in his line of sight. He usually runs inside the barn when a dog is nearby, but maybe the catnip mellowed him out this time.
The Grinch is a fictional character created by Dr. Seuss.
He’s a grumpy, green, human-like creature who hates Christmas and lives alone on a mountain above the cheerful town of Whoville. In the classic story How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1957).
Today, calling someone “a Grinch” usually means they’re being a holiday buzzkill.
Street trader, Exeter, Devon, UK.
LNAX 3043; probably the most disliked Geep in the south. Nicknamed by the locals as "The Spirit of Buzzkill", it is Lhoist's sole EMD among its roster of rare GE B23-7's. For some, it's not exactly the locomotive to see lead the turn, especially if you traveled hours to photograph the railroad. From my perspective though, I was actually happy to have it lead, having caught the rest of their roster lead on previous visits.
Here, the 3043 and 4023 tiptoe over Mammy's Creek Trestle with another train of limestone for the NS in Rockwood, TN.
Music: Nothing More - Do You Really Want It?
Do you really want it?
We say, "give me a high, oh god, give me a feeling
('Cause I've lost my reason)
We say;give me a push, a push through this
(Concrete ceiling)
We say;give me a sign that proves what I believe in
(A psychic reading)
So I can shake these American demons
Give me, give me, give me
Everybody wants to change the world
But one thing's clear
No one ever wants to change themselves
That's the way things are
All because we hate the buzzkill
Jaded when we need to feel
But we can change it all if you really want it
Do you really want it?
CSX K602 with the CP SD70ACu pair ended in tears when the leader died outside of Selkirk and the crew had to fetch a CSX GE for an add-on. Nevertheless, I stuck around to shoot them at Auto 31 after they met the Q434 at CP 38.
(Characters from L-R: Combat-The Fartknocker-NoZferatu-Dr. Buzzkill-Terrordactyl)
Every group needs a leader!
Meet the new guy...
Name: Noz Feratu
Origin: Vampire from outer space. Where exactly is unknown.
Abilities: Levetation, temporary mind control. Wields a par of gamma powered batons that can drain enemy's of there vitality with every hit.
I might ad 2 more to this group. There's definitely a main threat coming soon.
I haven't been posting much, because I been busy with work and more horror based figs 👹👾
Enjoy!
Alias: Buzzkill
Name: Buzz Saunders
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Allegiance: Villain
Powers: Has shuriken stored in most of his suit. He is able to use them at any time, which can spin around him, creating a whirlwind. He can also use them as projectiles.
Status: Active as a member of Mayhem (As like one of the footsoldiers, like Deathstalker.)
It's an unseasonably warm November day as train C18 hustles out of Lethbridge, headed south on CP's Montana Sub for the BNSF at Coutts. Clearly, a series of unforeseen events occurred to this train as they were instructed to tie the train down at Wilson, a mile south of here. It was rather a buzzkill as I was looking forward to chasing this thing down to the border, especially with an SD40 in the lead.
A passionate human being is unstoppable. Read on, and make sure to view the
video at the bottom.
Strongest Dad in the World
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay
for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.
But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in
marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a
wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and
pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back
mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes
taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was
strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged
and unable to control his limbs.
"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life." Dick says doctors told him
and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an
institution."
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes
followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the
engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was
anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told.
"There's nothing going on in his brain."
"Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a
lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by
touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to
communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate
was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for
him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that."
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more
than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he
tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for
two weeks."
That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it
felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving
Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly
shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
"No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a
single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few
years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway. Then
they found a way to get into the race officially - in 1983 they ran
another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the
following year.
Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?"
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he
was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick
tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour
Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud
getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you
think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says.
Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a
cantaloupe-sized smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston
Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best
time - Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world
record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to
be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the
time.
"No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the
Century."
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a
mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries
was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor
told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago."
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston,
and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always
find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and
compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's
Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants
to give him is a gift he can never buy.
"The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair
and I push him once."
Here's the video.... Copy this URL into your browser
L-R
Com-bat- Highly skilled with any firearm and hand to hand fights. Works best at night.
Dr. Buzzkill- Demented expert surgeon in body modifying.
The Fart Knocker- The name pretty much says it all. He smells horrible and packs a knock out punch with his pungent stink fists.
Terror-Dactyl- Expert in chemical warfare. Uses a special weapon that disperses neurotoxin to induce fear.
I'll have to elaborate on their back stories some more.
I saw the light shining through this tiny bee on the deck, and had to get a shot. Added a texture and border for interest.
"I'm a buzzkill, I'm the broken one
I'm a victim of the things you've done
I'm a phantom of who I thought I was
Ever since you, ever since you
I don't talk about it
Unless I make a joke about it
That's just what you want, huh?
That's just what you want
Walking on the ceiling
Gettin' used to never feeling
You're still having fun, huh?
And I don't trust no one
I won't keep your secrets now
You can't keep my volume down
I'm a buzzkill
Gonna kill your high 'cause I'm pissed off
I think you know why, and you're scared now
'Cause receipts don't lie
Ever since you, ever since you
Fucked up, haven't made a sound
Got me upset now I'm gettin' loud
Better watch me burn this whole place down
Ever since you, ever since you
Know what you did
Don't let it happen again, I pray for the kid
That calls you a friend
You pull them right in, told them their sins
Holy motherfucker, do you have something to say?
'Cause this is the beginning of the price you're gonna pay
I won't keep your secrets now
You can't keep my volume down
I'm a buzzkill
Gonna kill your high 'cause I'm pissed off
I think you know why, and you're scared now
'Cause receipts don't lie
Ever since you, ever since you
Fucked up, haven't made a sound
Got me upset now I'm gettin' loud
Better watch me burn this whole place down
Ever since you, ever since you
Ever since you, ever since you"
Lyrics Source:
genius.com/Mothica-buzzkill-lyrics
Video:
SNOTGIRL # 2
Lottie lays low after last month’s alarming events, but she still has to deal with her stalker! “Sounds gross! Can you change the title?” say our moms. The hottest new series of 2016 is SNOTGIRL from BRYAN LEE O'MALLEY (Scott Pilgrim) and LESLIE HUNG!
SUPER F*CKERS FOREVER # 1 of 5 (From Aug 17, 2016)
The Superf*ckers are back in their first-ever monthly comic-book series! James Kochalka’s loveably profane heroes return in Superf*ckers Forever, an event series like no other!
TANK GIRL: TWO GIRLS ONE TANK # 4 of 4
Our hedonistic heroine and her long-lost chum come to blows as Two Girls One Tank reaches its tear-jerking terminus. Keep the tissues handy, folks; you're gonna need the whole box!
WEIRD DETECTIVE # 3
Det. Sebastian Greene fights for his life against an Innsmouth monster! And Det. Sana Fayez is hot on Greene’s trail, closer and closer to discovering his secret identity but hounded by fish-faced Mafiosi. Will they be able to survive long enough to stop the Juice Box Killer?
SLEIGHER # 2
Barreling towards Christmas Day, Sleigher receives a big ole buzzkill in the form of a giant demonic snowman and it's troll master. Delivering presents to the kiddos will have to wait, 'cuz Sleigher's gotta bang heads tonight!
Eurasian Embassy Parking Garage, Cape Town, Union of Free Africa, 0600 AST, 20360607...
"You boys certainly work fast, I'm quite glad Langley let you tag along, I'm not sure if I would have been able to handle and entire Eurasian security force on my own."
"Sir..?"
"Ah, it's nothing sergeant, just making light of our current situation. Now let's see if our friend from the east here will be kind enough as to point us in the direction of the data center."
"ты чё, сука, охуел, бля!?"
"Is that a no? Shame, and I was going to let you live..."
BANG!
"Sarge we got multiple heart beats approaching our position, might be another security team!"
"Another security team? Maybe one of them will be willing to give us directions, do try to leave one alive sergeant."
"Sir with all due respect, shut up and get down. Prepare to breach on my command, we're taking the initiative here, Spencer load incendiaries, I'm not taking any chances."
"But sergeant I need one alive, I can't interrogate anyone if you light them all on fire."
"Mr. Green I'm not going to say it again. If needed I have the authority to remove you from this op."
"Don't be a buzzkill sergeant."
"Spencer, breach!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not the biggest fan of how this came out, pretty sure I'm going to stick to vigs for the foreseeable future. Anyway, decided to get this up before finals start to kick off. On a side note I will hopefully get to my 1.1 log this weekend. Anyway, only posted this because Everette would stop bugging me about it, so I hope you're happy.
Thanks for stopping by guys!
-Tommy
I have decided that early in the morning is my favorite time to paint. Crazy people always show up in the afternoon and can be a total buzzkill. So on the morning of day two I met some scuba divers instead of the inraged dog walker guy. It just seems to be a better fit. Asesr is on the wall too, more deets on the piece here www.suemenow.com/blog/new-wall
Just a figure I cooked up inspirations added, after seeing Yappen's new scars I had to try it, mine are meh I love yappen's
From the access door we go down a ladder which leads into a stairwell. I lead down the flights of stairs while Cristy stays behind.
Phin - "Look...I'm sorry I had to be such a buzzkill up there. But-"
Cristy - "I know...wasting time, we have to get there before dark..."
I sigh to myself; not being able to think of anything to say.
Cristy - "I just...It's been so long since I've seen rain. I can't even remember if I've ever seen it at all."
Phin - "I know, same here. We've both been locked away from the outside world for all these years, we're both still getting used to how it is out here again. But for now we have to keep our priorities in check. There'll be other days, but right now we gotta focus on the task at hand."
Cristy - "I guess you're right..."
Phin - "Not to mention, I wouldn't want you getting soaked out there, 'end up freezing."
I get to the bottom of the current flight of stairs we're on and turn towards her.
Phin - " 'We good?"
Cristy - "Yeah. We're good."
A lot of issues were collected earlier today.
WEIRD DETECTIVE # 4
Sebastian Greene is finding it increasingly difficult to keep his true identity a secret from his partner, Sana Fayez. At the same time, he’s finally tracked down the Juice Box Killer—but can he take on the horrendous beast by himself?
THE HELLBLAZER: REBIRTH # 1
John Constantine’s lost weekend in New York City was fun, but London’s where his heart is—only a pissed-off demon and a curse on his soul stand in his way. Even Constantine’s questionable ethics are pushed to the limit when he puts eight million souls on the line to get what he wants…
ROCK & ROLL BIOGRAPHIES: NOFX
Just when you thought you were safe! Rock and Roll Biographies are breaking new ground and going punk for an issue! Featuring the Bay Areas one and only true punksters NOFX! See how Fat Mike formed the seminal hardcore punk group and how they achieved success with no support from the world!
HARLEY QUINN # 4
“108 MILLION WAYS TO DIE!” Even though she hates to leave Coney Island as it rebuilds after the zombie apocalypse, Harley must set out on
a journey that will take her around the world—and into the clutches of a bizarre robotic enemy! Too bad her Mecha-Harley suit didn’t fit in the overhead bin…
DEATHSTROKE # 2
“The Professional” part 2! Deathstroke investigates a connection between Wintergreen’s kidnapping and their old special ops unit to find out which of Slade’s trusted inner circle has betrayed him!
THE SIMPSONS' TREEHOUSE OF HORROR # 22
First of all, Bongo invites everyone to visit the Retirement Castle of the Vampires! Really
SLEIGHER # 3
It’s Christmas Eve! Time for Sleigher to cruise around the world and sling some presents, but wait– the evil troll wizard, Leppaluoi, has trapped our main man inside the pocket dimension hidden within Santa’s sack. Ain’t that a buzzkill?! Who’s going to slow down Leppaluoi and his family before they devour the souls of all the world’s children and turn Sleigher into just another run-down, mythical metalhead?
MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS # 7
The Black Dragon has come! The balance of power has shifted as rule of Earth is now at the hands of Rita.
CARNAGE (2015) # 12
The survivors of the Anti-Carnage Task Force have followed Cletus Kasady into his trap! Surrounded by Carnage-infected monsters and with nowhere to run, how many survivors will be left?
SUPER F*CKERS FOREVER # 2
James Kochalka continues the monthly mayhem involving sandwiches, Fight Boys, a couch and… a demon lord from Dimension Zero! And then Laura Knetzger tells a caffeinated tale involving Jack Krak and Grotus!
ϟ Hey Folkers!
Technofolk_BuzzKill Pants // Штаны BuzzKill .
_______________________________________________
✧ It includes
✧ Pants - With 06 different textures.
✧ Rigged for Legacy,Perky,eBODY Reborn and Maitreya Lara X .
✧ Inworld Mainstore - maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Viktel%20Aria/164/77/2625
Please test the demo before purchasing!
✧ все авторские права.
Original Version Technofolk ®
Оригинальная версия Технофолк ®
- Shoes in vendor -
SPIRIT - Winnie sandals & socks [BLACK]
AFFLICTSINS - "Possession" Spiked Heels Black
I know that this is sorta buzzkill from my previous moody works but it has been such a long time since I post normal shots by my standard - without the alteration with textures and whatnots. I hope this is still acceptable. I tried shooting with a repurchased 55-250mm IS lens. Pretty nifty yea? :)
I have a cousin's wedding to shoot on the 8th of August. I sense another photographer's fright impending :)
© Copyright Iskandar 2010| All rights reserved.
Do not use, copy or edit any of my materials without my written permission.
Would appreciate not having large/animated multi invite codes
I'd make some big long winded speech about the SD40-2 being a trusty warhorse and having to pull two big GEs and the Z, but the leader crapped out at MP. 74....buzzkill.
6-23-13
Stuff in my head right now
Honestly have no idea why I'm doing this.
People are gonna hate this I can just tell haha.
Why do I say "haha" because after a full stop? It just sounds deadpan but when it's in all caps with like an exclamation point it looks like the freakin' Jokers speech bubbles, HAHA! see? Weird.
I mean I can leave a ":)" face like I normally do but that's just so I don't come across as kind of dick. Right I know it sounds weird but take this for example...
"Cool fig!"
"Thanks."
See it just comes across as idk...douch-y? Or is it just me?
Well that went weird, am I honestly going to upload this crap? What clickbait should I use, I should just have like a really closeup pic of some weird ass crap from online like those weird memes. Really don't understand why people like those. I think the internet went all to hell after "Lol Cats" or whatever. Then you got all those spooky pics and creepy stories which I always seem to come across...I think Flickr is the safest place online. ALTHOUGH you've got porn on there like wtf why?!
Off topic.
The Lego community is pretty fun on Flickr and the art community seems to be joining in with us as well. But unless if you're like 'out there' and talking with people and have an identity or whatever you don't really get followers and stuff which kind of bums me out, unless if you've got ridiculously good stuff or follow a ton of people. Maybe it's because I don't do customs and stuff like that? Oh and the art community drawing other members and stuff is cool but you secretly dislike them for not including you in them, then you think "Do I not leave an impression or come across as a buzzkill before I'm not included or something?"
That's just going to 'trigger people' I think but then again I'm probably not going to upload this. If I do I better remember to take that part out or there's gonna be a Flaaaaaaame Waaaaaar!
I've never actually seen a Flame War happen on Flickr but I remember like wayyyy back before I had Flickr and seen one and I was like "Dayuuum sun!" Haha, boy did the people in the cafe stare at me after that.
But then again EVERYONE tends to "look continuously" at me even though I look perfectly normal, I think. That's why I don't like being alone and stuff because everyone looks at me and I feel so awkward! I asked my Mum about it and she said "It's because we're special and people know were different." At first I thought she meant like mentally and not in the special I am the chosen one sort of way. But then I realised my Mum gets looked at as well and we just try to ignore it haha it's really creepy though. Even in different regions and everything...freaks me out. I tend to hide my hands a lot in my sleeves or pockets because I've got really big hands but more so because I feel uncomfortable in public and stuff like that. But talking to friends and stuff I'm quite energetic and move around a lot.
Oh yeah that whole "they can tell were different" thing always makes me shudder slightly with excitement because it makes me feel like I'm part of a movie about heroes
like one of my OC's it's really fun to think about. Because I've always felt I was different to everyone else, but doesn't everyone? Maybe I'm just paranoid or whatever I didn't know.
I tend to attract those that are different as well and are into similar stuff as me. I've been like that since school, I could get along with 'popular people' usually but I didn't like them, they used to be like, "Oh hey, ___ come hang!" Sort of thing and pretty much always said, "___ would be a popular kid if he hanged out with us." But I didn't care about that kind of thing I just used to think of my OC's and ideas and sciences and kept to myself. My Mum was like that too but with fashion and everything, I remember seeing her drawings and they were amazing! Me and her are really alike, characsimatic, sweet to nature, caring and smart but when angered just hide. Haha
Our 'fuses' are usually very long but when we go off its just not us, I have more patience and stuff than her and I love her deeply, we rarely argue but about 20 minutes later were all good again. My Dad I just won't talk about haha. My Mum is all I need. I think it's why I've always got such strong female characters and either deceased or villainous male OC's. Maybe?
Why am I talking about this? haha
I'm not taking any of that out because a good 90% of the people that looked at this won't of get past the first paragraph because it's boring af.
Time to check my Flickr!
I don't know why but I only seem to look at stuff people tag me in, I just always forget to click on that "people" button! I use the website because the app kicks me out and it's so annoying! Although it's the only way I can upload my ideas and stuff like that and I really like the people there even though I'm always overthinking if what I'll say in a joking way will make people angry and stuff like that even though this post will just tick people off. But we will find out!
Follower rate currently 340 give me 20 minutes and it'll be 300 maybe! :P
I got a chemistry exam tomorrow first thing in the morning at college so that's just going to be great, I think I'll be alright but when ever I get an Exam I'll study and learn it in a way in which I was shown then in the exam it'll be different and have different working that I never seen in the book and will make me screw if up.
I could of said the f-word instead of screw up but I don't swear even though I'm like 18 years old. My Grandad used to say it was a lack of vocabulary but he swore a ton. It was in the funny way that made you laugh though so that makes it okay.
You'd think being 18 *cough* maybe *cough* I would have better punctuation and stuff like that but I was never actually taught it properly because I jumped around a lot as a kid and changed schools. That's why when people say I'm a great writer I'm like, "No freakin' way!" I literally just type what I think. It's the punctuation and stuff that holds me back, even though I've learned different meanings of "To" and "There" about a couple years ago even though I should have knew that when I was what, 8? Like I said I had a poor education and was a compete duffer with maths which is ironic because I'm doing applied sciences at college at a higher level now and passed my Maths exams, biology and chemistry ones as well. Still have a few more to go before summer then off to another level then university! So yeah...
It's really funny when I tell people I do sciences because they're face is like 0____0 but maybe it's just because of my appearance? Speaking of appearances I'm over 6ft and usually wears baggy T-Shirts, tight jeans big shoes and have a skinny build but when I take off my shirt and everything I have quite broad shoulders and a lean build, weird huh? Haha might be because of my clothes giving a weird appearance. It's even weirder because when I lose my temper I get incredible strong. I'm currently doing push-ups and occasionally practice throwing punches and jabs and most recently crosses and notice some improvement with my power and flow. Won't be long till I get my free gym membership and stuff in my area as well because I'm joining my neighbourhood association and trying to work on a community garden for everyone with some members alongside my Mum.
I hope that Moth doesn't give me a heart attack tonight when I'm on my iPad. I seen it a coupe days ago in my room at night and caught it in a tub, gave it some banana and water and seen it drink and everything with its tongue and was going to release it the next morning because I was knackered then the next morning it was gone. Escaped through the gap between the lid and the tub because I made the mistake of trying to give it air. So I still think it's in my room and am terrified of it coming at me or dying in my room but I think it's gone. If I find its body I could use it for some sort of Killer Moth figure, that's kind of sick though...
Oh yeah that Killer Moth Lego fig I'm so sick of. I only have the one with the antennas not the actual helmet one and it's so annoying because I'm trying to feel for it in a LBCMF packet but I can't haha.
I looked online to buy one but came across a website called 'Wish' and eh I seen their adverts on YouTube and OMG it's cringy! The guy is like "Oh a drone!" And forces a smile and stuff and eeeeugh it's painful!
Anyway before this gets too long I'm just gonna upload this and see what response it gets. Bet it'll get explored. If so I'm done I'm throwing a tantrum!
Don't gets me started on Explore. Only been Explored once and it was when I was new and didn't know wtf it was and didn't see it until a year later....never got anything else explored since.
ANYWAY time to upload! I really cannot be bothered doing the thing to make stuff italics and bold like at the beginning.
From L to R
Blue , White,Black , Blue Steel , Bjorn , Sting, BuzzKill and Viper.
All hired to kill The Streak they are the best out of the best and they plan on showing their skills .
The middle figure ... FearMaster the man behind it all ... his ruged look is because of most of his body burnt or missing, and replaced with plastic or metal. He wants revenge for he blames Hardy and The Streak for what has happened to him .
THE DRUNKEN MUSE
The story "Drunken Muse" was audio recorded on a hidden voice recorder during the conversations about two decades ago. The story-teller didn't know or consent to the recording.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tape_recorder
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/8-track_tape
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compact_Cassette
The audio tapes on compact cassettes were never used. The records were partially damaged and lost.
Herewith the unedited transcript version.
medium.com/paul-jaisini-paints-invisible-paintings/paul-j...
I am so pumped to get back to painting as I return to the second year of the art school after a full year suspension. As always it is like time-travel culturally speaking, like walking right into the middle ages going through the antique building’s portal.
Art studios are the huge L-shaped lofts with super tall ceilings 20 feet no less with the wall to wall windows so that sunlight illuminates the space from south and east side designed for the purpose so that one could paint there from morning till sunset.
In a studio there are classical gypsum sculptures, expensive copies of Venus de Milo, David, Laocoön and the others. In the art studio there stood the noses, eyes, lips, feet, and palms on the wood shelves.
Sketching the gypsum body parts helps you to build the classic academic base on which stands the whole modern and contempo art. This sort of teaching is specific for the art schools that preserve the traditions they had been founded on. There is only few art schools like this and of this caliber left now. Could be that this is the only legendary school that continues to function as if nothing had changed in the world. In the rest of the world with billions of some art classes nobody knows what does the old tradition of art school is for, its totally unfashionable.
Studying classic art (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Academic_art) here is the foundation for creativity in any of the art styles.
The smell of art is what defines the studio but not from human presence, something like an aroma reminiscent of the eastern market where smoke from hookaahs mix with the oil vapors, exotic fragrance from candles and spices. The Art Studios were never renovated since the times they were built over 150 years ago. The wood floors are saturated with art oils as if the floor is waxed with the organic oils from nuts, linen ( linseed oil, poppy seed oil, and so forth.) Adding to the mix the varnishes used by painters (pine wood varnish, Dammar varnish and others) It makes this ART SMELL to be the most intoxicating and ever-lasting musk.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oil_painting
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oil_painting - Ingredients
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Studio - Art_studio
The instance you enter the studio space you feel the belonging to a knighthood and the whole art history. You are the undivided part of those people who left their creation imprints.
Super pumped up after the long break up with the arts after my full year of non-stop party marathons I had returned to the bohemian life style.
Actually my other life style wasn't any different from the bohemian.
The only difference is that there is some meaning in the bohemian life style, something to create, to shape. Not just spend time doing sports and girls but something on a whole 'nother level only with the same sub text and by far more emotionally connected.
The bohemian I think is much more my thing, that fits me as a person. Maybe because my old man is the greatest sculptor.
He is color blind so apparently I took up the torch, I have a very special sense for color.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sculpture
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohemianism
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Color_blindness
There could be an inborn human predicament or inborn genius.
I returned into the world to kiss its ground. I like everything about it, the babeville and its fashion circus.
The art students are known to come up with endless varieties of how to be stylish.
Take me for example, I am chilling in a suit jacket. It was professionally hand-tailored out of a denim Pajamas with stripes and starry silk underlining.
This “look” is completed by my python leather jeans. And over that an authentic LONG military Germany Waffen Elite Officer black Leather Coat from the WWII, only it is without a Swastika.
I never part with my large portfolio and a Field Easel.
EASEL
About 700 students attend the studies. The art school accepts only the best of best with few exception such as the kids of celebrity artists, writers and musicians and people who had real power in the city.
I wasn't enrolled for money or the A-lister parents, but for my talents. The Art specialty (painting, drawing, sculpture) teachers here are the world-wide recognized contemporary artists.
In a matter of my working ethics these important artists would point at me as the example of how fast I work, how well I sketch in color, how I always choose the most unexpected and unusual angle for my composition and so on...
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Composition_(visual_arts)
name banner gif
Optical illusion geometric gif
(portraiture, still-life, and landscape)
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Still_life
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landscape_painting
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_drawing
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_painting
I never work on an académie (live drawing of a model, live painting of a model) the given eighty -- ninety hours. My whole process is about six -- nine hours to fully complete the work so I get out of the studio for some action and fun.
I’m probably the strongest in the class. My art professors know I don’t need to be there to distract the others.
When I’ve got nothing to do I start banging the head against the wall. Still I am criticized SUPER harshly for cutting the classes.
At this point I am not aware of the inner workings of “THE SYSTEM”.
I call suitcase with a secret compartment.
At the grade shows I only see the bad grades on my best artworks.
There is another side of the coin. It revealed in the future when I got to befriend a secretary at the Dean’s office. It was about the time of my graduating year.
The art teachers actually always considered me to be the leading artist among all students. They would grade all my artworks high on my personal record I knew nothing about.
That was how the art school’s system pushed the talented students to go further to open up their potential. Pushing to the limits of impossible.
I am harshly criticized for cutting a lot of classes.
There is another side of the coin. It will be revealed in the future when I got to befriend a secretary at the Dean's office. It was about the time of my graduating year.
The art teachers actually always considered me to be the leading artist among all students. They would grade all my artworks high on my personal record I knew nothing about.
That was how the art school's system pushed the talented students to go further to open up their potential. Pushing to the limits of impossible.
Willing or not but the doubts get in my head. I was thinking (rather frantically) that maybe I’m all just misguided. I will work to beef up my skills unable to accept that I am not really a “genius” artist. The bad grades were corrupting my vision.
Totally clueless that these bad grades in my case were used as "disciplinary measures" for my behavior of anarchy. These grades had nothing to do with my artworks.
And yet my best drawings and paintings are graded the lowest. At the same time the art professors are taking my works home. I always find empty walls where my works were displayed for the semester shows.
Sooner or later the missing artworks got me enraged. My classmates tell me the back story on what REALLY had happened.
All the art professors usually go the painting major's finals. So they just took my artworks right off the wall.
Ever since I heard this back story I flaunt how IDGAF to even pick up my works with the bad grades after the finals end.
Like a bunch of some doomsday looters in sight of an electronic store the art students same as the teachers vultured my artworks. Later some of my paintings and drawings were seen at the school's museum, especially the paintings.
The story of the artworks snatched off my exhibit wall developed further.
In the art school the art teachers are the privileged kind who exhibit regularly. All are the accomplished artists with big names.
Another thing about my artworks (no longer mine and in someone else's possession) is the story that involves someone with the top art rep being the art dynasty. Even so it happed that the leading art professor nicknamed Molly (for her annoying facial mole) used my art stuff to have her son who studied same years as me, just never expelled, to apply to an art academy with the highest qualification requirements. Molly's son portfolio sucked. To get him qualified to apply she gave her son all of my artworks she collected.
The juice was given to me by the reliable sources. The story was concurred by the eye--witnesses the students who were applying to the same academy together with Molly's son. Some of these students knew my work by the style, special color palette and the brushwork.
They all knew that Molly's son was using my artworks. He only had to forge his signature and remove mine.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Study_(art)
My drawings, sketches, paintings, watercolors are in "wide" use by others.
I tell that to describe the routine of my life.
It could explain why I was expelled three times for the chronic absence, for sabotaging the lectures -- getting my classmates to leave the studio and go to the movies or to the beach.
Fast forward to that event of the breaking point when I started to work systematically.
I was sucked into work as if a drug addiction. I was penetrating deeper to the very core of creativity. Reading books, going to the museums, working in the field, working in the museums to copy masters. I completely forgot all about life around me.
Practically I was devoured and digested with my nails and hair by that devil called the academic art. It sucked out the leftovers of my soul.
I stayed in the studio after the classes to work. There were only few students like this, spiritually close to me. To them it was their life style since the day they had entered the art school unlike me. Whenever I'd get bored with art I'd quit working and just leave without asking permission.
Now as if something had hit me hard and I started to really work. Most art students here typically come from such backgrounds when they did their baby steps and studied in the children's (secondary) art school from an early age and tutored by art teachers at home
I had a tendency to take on a higher complexity unprepared without the experience of any art school training (the eight years on a daily basic with teachers and methodical practice.)
As long as I remember myself I was drawing, during my school years, on the notebooks, with chalk on the asphalt, with stick on the sand. I did it subconsciously, not knowing what I was doing.
IDK, could be due to the several bad bike accidents when my head ended up hitting the brick...
Why did my brain moved into the direction of noticing those things that normal people should not be noticing? That the leaves on the trees are not at all green, but violet.
The falling shadows from the street lights are not at all outlined by black, the contours are the absolute blue.
The trees look like people.
There are so much more shades of colors that language could articulate.
Stuff like this filled up my head so that there was no place left for just a thought about girls, more so even the thoughts to manipulate my body functions. For instance using the
bathroom. I almost peed my pants. Truthfully I was on the edge of madness.
I remember how I hallucinated during my work imagining that someone had come into my studio and I spoke to "the guest." My brain was ill, there was no escape from that hell.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violet_(color)
Once I was walking on a street without any awareness. My mind was no longer in command of anything accept the obsession with my painting. As I was pushing the limits of what was humanly possible in a matter of progress from the previous stage when I could draw and paint with intuitive results now I considered as totally armature waste of art materials. My condition would be hard to describe since I could hardly remember what was it like during that madly intense period. I know that I was working non--stop and did make some major break through. It worked but at the same time the progress turned its evil side, I wasn't able to stop even for a brief moment. Something happened to my otherwise incorruptible memory that I could only remember few things from that period. And one of those things was my death walk through the city streets on a day I was supposed to disappear.
When I realized that I was walking automatically, blind and incredibly
avoiding the cars, for the first time I felt the fear of madness that can easily take my life. It wasn't something I would fear if I was in my other life when loosing it would be quite an ordinary thing and not due to my lost mind.
Whatever it was I survived with no chances to stay alive that day. I had more chances to live on when I was shot at execution style, when I was drowning in bad storm, climbing on a building like a cat, and on many others such occasions.
Some guardian angel was looking over me as I came to the final moment of certain death, blind, deaf, disoriented and delusional.
As we finished with draperies, still life, gypsum figures we moved on to the nude. To draw and paint from the live sitter, male or female model.
There comes an old fat hag to be posed before the artists. She will be POSING even during the breaks. She sits professionally without a slight move of her flab folds for us to draw her “forms”. ‘assume it was done for the boys not to get distracted with the female anatomy.
The models with “rounded” forms were chosen so we would study the reflects and double reflects on a “sphere-like” and “cylinder-like” forms.
There would be plenty of the cast shadow (a type of shadow that is created on a form), and a drop shadow ( below the image).
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_human_positions
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_study
The working objective was to concentrate on the drawing’s construction.
When we’d get a young female model, she’d be so skeletal that we studied the skeleton. This type of models was as unattractive as the fat ones.
The art students without an eye for a drawing and technique produced their works of caricature quality. With the lost proportions the models looked like animals, skinny chickens or fat frogs.
For me it was a serious job, body didn’t exist. I x-rayed the flubs of fat to see the bones to connect them to muscles, to build a form.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caricature
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skeleton
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_skeleton
The illness I call the overdose had progressed and my end was near.
Homies who knew me used to say that I was cracked.
When I moved from the classicism to modern (I refused to see any modern or contemporary art, never wanted to see it, or ever saw it) I entered the Modern art on my own, as my foot stepped into the forth dimension.
I entered the world of mad pressure. Good I stepped in it one foot yet.
I was sleeping in the studio right on the floor near my work and placed an electric heater near by.
It was impossible to heat up whole place where fifty heavy-duty easels only took a quarter of the studio space.
In the center there was a huge round stage made from a special hard wood to hold any number of models when needed for the multiple human-figure compositions.
The place was full of easels, portable and the large for the field. The chairs, tables, palettes, boxes with paint, cases with paper and lots of other art stuff piled up into mountains.
The parquet floor was always covered in fresh oil paints even though the teachers tried in vein to prove a fact that working neatly was by far more productive.
We had a dormitory built same year as the art school which was 150 something years ago.
If you stayed late in the studio that was forbidden, you couldn't get to the dorm.
A guard at the main door was a real watch dog, he faithfully guarded the pathway knowing every student's face.
The dorm was occupied by those who couldn't pay for a room or the apartment in the city.
Ten beds were squeezed in a dorm room.
This part of the antique building was never renovated probably b/c it was planned to be turned into more art studios.
But since there were out of town students who had no place to live they were given a place in this dorm.
The beds were of a good prison-like quality so the survival was possible. Another thing is what was happening in the dorm.
On a typical day nobody there had any money left after the expensive art materials. Not a penny to get high. Alcoholic liquid (40-60%) was soaked into the bread.
From one bite of that bread you could instantly drop dead as if your legs got cut off by a train.
The receptors inside the nose absorb the fumes to hit right into the brain, this way the booze doesn't ever enter the digestive system and blood.
It kills or makes one go bonkers.
Some pissheads in desperation poured vodka into a wine bottle cap to inhale it like coke. After one cap screw it was a total alchoholocaust.
There were many ways of economizing: to use a medical thin rubber tube to suck the drink very slowly, one bottle would
serve four alkies.
It was the usual schizophrenic day for me. I had my dose of coffee and ate on a way to the studio.
Those days I didn't miss a class afraid to get expelled for the last and final time.
I couldn't understand this thing about my artworks. Why did my classmates literally begged on their knees to have the C-graded artworks I was never satisfied with.
It became my trade mark to give away all of my stuff left and right. I didn't know why I let go of my drawings and paintings so easy. Now I regret that. It would be interesting to see the growth.
Once I happened to tell a guy from my class who worked very hard on his drawing (he wasn't a good draftsman): "Oh Wow! you are doing a lot of progress, buddy, congrats!" I looked at his portfolio and pointed at a piece: "This drawing here is really mature and quite interesting, you achieved volume and air in just a linear drawing."
The guy suddenly goes red, stares at me wide-eyed with anger or confusion I couldn't quite understand...
"Am I saying something wrong?" I asked.
"You're fucking dissing me!" He answered.
"Why?" I wondered.
"This is YOUR drawing," Was the answer: "I took it, that is when I asked you and you gave it to me, don't you remember?"
I didn't recognize, didn't see my signature, as it was overlapping the drawing.
The guy was holding a grudge for this but it didn't turn him into one of my enemies.
At some point I am thankful to the teachers for their sneaky methods and experience on how to tame the most unruly and bring them into the art's stable. On the other hand these people were like sadistic fascists who used their special gases on me experimenting, would I survive it and live on.
The bohemian hyped up life only started after the classes at about seven in the evening. This part of the artist's life was full of sex, booze, and drugs, more sex booze drugs and orgies. The art youth was progressive, the sex - communal with the conveniently shared girlfriends and boyfriends.
Strangely the good times didn't concern me anymore now.
There was a small group of idiots who followed their criteria of achievement: to draw and paint a vase with flowers so that it comes to life, right out of the canvas to the carrying hands of the one who painted it. The flowers turned alive would be given to the girl/boyfriend.
The madness of the 4th dimension.
The art group was lead by me and another guy soon (one month later) to disappear forever for the reasons unknown.
After the classes me and few others searched for a studio. Found it. Not my studio. Any studio with the door unlocked.
As usual I would set a still life. Take off my nazi coat.
Set my next canvas on the easel to start quick sketching.
Out of nowhere shows up some dude who was a new student, he was much older, about twenty three, somewhere from Texas and just plain untalented.
He wanted to hang around with "the power-group" to learn.
There were few girls with the ambition to reach the level of a manly hand in creation.
We all usually worked in grave silence and even a slight noise would be extremely annoying.
If a brush would fall it seemed the atomic bomb had exploded somewhere near. We would exchange vicious cursing at the jittery creaking sneezing noise maker.
When you are focusing intensely and can't quite catch the brush stroke to complete the shaping of a form so that the image would turn real and come out of the flat surface the nerves are high strung to the limit.
The last months I just never left the studio, didn't even come outside. Slept on my German coat in the corner. It was veiled with the drapery. I'd wake up in the morning. The doorman was already used to give me the keys knowing that I sleep and work there. It came with a warning that if I am discovered I must tell any story and solemnly kept the secret.
The memories from those years distract me from telling what I want. It's about the event that had closed for me the entry into the forth dimension.
That day I was getting upset over some stupid teases: "What had happened to you!"
Whether the bros wanted to elevate my mental state, or they needed to get my works it had really caused me distraction. I was focusing on my work. Suddenly I hear the sounds of music in the studio. It jumped me: “Are you out of your fucking minds? That asshole doorman will come here."
"No he ain’t gonna."
"Why?"
"He is passed out, we had to carry him away." Was the answer.
"What is going down?" I worried.
"Not much, nothing is going down, we just want some fun. The way it is on here is so buzz-killing."
Was it some holiday, I didn’t know. Holidays passed by me, I didn’t smoke or drink and only worked. What they were saying didn’t reach me.
“Shut down the music. You’re gone but I must sleep here."
"Why must you sleep here?" Asked Lorenzo (nick-named after his personal preferences of the Benzos)
"Hmm, I guess there will be no way of working today?" I asked.
"Working, way working, you gonna make me some home works," Assured me the dude nicknamed Kuz. "For that I will make your sculpture complete."
As interesting as it was to play with the real forms in sculpting I disliked dealing with the clay. Those times I believed the painting to be so much more in gradations, possibilities and complexity. Now I changed my mind to consider any art media possess the unlimited possibilities.
I agreed. Suddenly the guys were fixing to leave and I had to ask: "So? Who will finish building up the sculpture if you're leaving?"
"No worries, will build it up, brb just a quick run for some booze before the stores closed up."
"What booze? Get out of here go to another studio. I work, don’t mess me up."
"No biggie, son, you can rest for once."
It was pointless to argue, they'd already been drunk and I was only getting nervous. My work wasn’t going good at all. I have changed the lighting set up many ways in vein.
Suddenly, out of nowhere Muse appears. A young, very-very attractive girl about eighteen. The returned gang introduced her to me:
"J-Sin, meet her... lets say Nicky."
"Eh, hello Nicky, who and what are you?" were my greetings.
She smiled to everyone and answered: "I will be posing for you today."
"We agreed about everything, will pay the price,” –explained Lorenzo barely moving his tongue, "She is gonna be happy!"
His bag full of bottles made loud clanking noise.
When the drunks got them out I counted six.
“Yes, this is going to be a wild night.” I was thinking what to do now. I approached the model, took off her coat and hanged it, removed her blouse and explained that she can go behind the curtain.
"Hey, hey! What curtain son, what’s with you? She is from the med school, our people!"
I heard the Kuz's inebriated voice. "She is THE model!"
"What -- nude?" I wondered.
"And what did you think, she'd sit covered up in here?" They burst into laughter.
Suddenly I feel elated with the anticipation of the new and amazing subject for the work. I was fed up with the poor set up and the struggle to "find" the good lighting for the gypsum head. How wonderful it turned out that I could make some picturesque oil sketches.
When the model took off her bra, her young breasts, her nipples instantly distract my attention from work.
Shit, I couldn’t focus. Since we hadn’t a glimpse at such models it was too interesting. Could be that something about this evening or the environment was different. First time in a long while the music was playing, the glasses jingled and filled up with wine.
As she posed we were all doing the quick sketching. She removed everything except her panties.
The drunken assholes wouldn’t let me focus.
"Let me finally have a chance to work." I yelled getting distracted.
They seemed to try bargaining: "We brought you the model, hey girl turn around!" Kuz pulled up her skirt and slapped her buddy. "Look at these buns, you've got to do another
drawing for the semester show."
"Boys, you are so bad!" She giggled to Kuz. "I will spank you for being soooo bad!" And she was laughing in most contagious sexy trills of her childish capricious voice.
I didn’t understand what these die--hard drunks were doing at the art school, without any talent or interest in art. My former palls in another life that was long forgotten. Today the serious artists who always worked together with me had left the moment this bad company swam by.
Now I was looking at their watery eyes winking at the model. They caressed her things as she reclined on the wooden stage to rest. I wanted to figure out why did they distract me even more now?
I was the same age as the model. I didn’t see her body, to me now it was the model for painting.
It was getting late when the cold winds penetrate the place from the drafty wall size windows. I put on my sweater in the starting freezer. The one meter or the three feet and 33/8 inch walls are like the thermos to absorb and hold the cool temperature. I looked at the laughing bunch who labored on my sculpture.
One was drawing a huge flying dick with wings with a charcoal right on a white wall.
I had finished sketching the figure. I came up to the stage to set up the heater. I asked the model if she could sit some more taking breaks whenever she needs to move.
When she looked at me she was constantly smiling.
"Sure she’ll sit! And she'll lay, right, sweet buns?"
I held my breath working imagining how awesome would be to have such a model every day. With a shaky hand I was working fast as a machine expecting any minute now she would say that she is too cold to sit another minute and she leaves, its all over. I will have to kill her and sit her lifeless body on a chair to complete my work.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The heater I placed caused the red reflexes on the body. I was painting and had to get the color right. So I removed the heater. The model immediately complained about the cold. Kuz brought her a glass of wine asking me why did I remove the heater.
From wine her face flushed red. I tried to adjust the color scale, laying brushstrokes over the whole figure.
Meanwhile the music turned up it was getting real loud.
The model took her break.
I walked after her studying her forms.
"Is something wrong?" She asked.
"Its all right, could you turn this way."
"Oh, I see. Same in our med school, the nut cases," She openly declared to the others when I was on a floor looking from a lower viewpoint.
"Who is this?" She asked: "What kind of a mental is he?"
"Its a disease, but it will pass" – was the answer for her. "Sometimes it is terminal. Not his tho, his will pass, he loves the young girls very much…"
Something from the stupid jokes had reached me.
"Hon, now he needs the medical attention. You are the medic? We are forever in debt to yous for allowing us come to the mortuary and for helping with the dead bodies... What we have here is a zombie. You are the goddess who saves the body as your calling."
What I heard was polluting my pure artistic brain with that life I refused. Now I was paying attention not to the mammary glands but to her breasts. Her back muscles are slightly weak. As I looked over the skeleton the muscles slowly disappeared. No matter how hard I tried to focus my x-rays were weakened. Maybe the electricity turned off inside my head.
"Pour me some," I asked.
Six months of my immaculate virginity and celibacy was broken by a wine glass. The red wine like the blood of innocents was running in my throat filling up the brain that shortly was boiling with vigor. So I said:
"Could you please remove your panties?"
"It wasn’t the deal," protested the model with her eyes glowing like honey.
Lorenzo interrupted her:
"For god’s sake, take of your panties, what is it to you, aren't you a medic?"
"I thought someone here was shy, as for me" She lustfully licked her lips. "Well, of course its nothing."
"Who is shy?" Asked someone.
"Him the weirdo!" She giggled in a very cute bubbly little voice.
"Are you shy?"
"It seems it was me who asked her to remove the panties." I explained.
She just jumped right out of her panties not without pleasure it seemed.
I imagined how to position her, what pose should she take.
"Hey!" I asked Kuz to pour me another glass. He was cheering me on yet reminding that I should first finish the drawing.
"Later," I mumbled turning to the model: "Would you please sit on a chair and spread your pretty legs a little, as much as you wish."
"Hey, Alex, so he is normal?" She asked.
I was far away from normality. A actual girl weaved from the reality. But the process was a transformation with splitting dimensions.
She was turning more real when I touched her to show how to position her legs.
I glimpsed at the red pubic hair seeing the pink flesh of her vaginal lips.
I couldn't focus on my work. Could the “female anatomy” destroy the temple of magic I was erecting for the eight months?
I returned to my easel and continued working. She was fidgeting changing poses uncomfortable this something hurting that... But it was only natural, she was sitting naked on a plain hard wooden chair. She was sliding from one side of the chair to another. I was buzzed from wine and couldn’t work, but I tried to complete my work just to annoy these assholes who screwed up my day. First work was washed off with turpentine and I wiped up the canvas dry with a rag.
I was sketching now not with a charcoal but brushing in umber. It resulted in an interesting tonality and I was captured again. The model squirming on her hard chair complained.
"Yo, why don’t you lay her down, what is she suffering for?" Asked Alex, "Lay her the fuck down, why not."
Right! I thought a little and told her to lay on the stage. Underneath her I spread some drapery.
After few wine glasses I took off my sweater, my cheeks were on fire. Hers too. I unbuttoned my shirt, my blood was boiling, the body was washed with the warmth.
The heater was moved away.
"So true that wine warms you up," she said to Alex.
"Jay, so tell me how to lay her down there. Sit, sit, you poor thingy, I'll assist you" And he jumped on the stage. "Do you want her legs spread this way?" he asked opening
up her legs so that her whole anatomy was showing.
"Is this ok for you?" He winked at me: "Is it good?"
"Oh no, can’t show it like this at the mid-semester show." Thinking some I added: " Let it be, lift her leg a little higher, like this. Turn her head down."
"Like this?" He kissed her on the lips.
"Alex, the fuck you're doing, I don’t have any time."
"Work, keep drawing, go on!" he said. "We won’t disturb you."
I was outraged after I just washed everything off my canvas ready to work, but this wasn't going anywhere. I kept asking Alex what did he mean by not disturbing me when he messed everything up. I heard the girls laughing trills. "For real, he is ill!"
"The sick can be cured." Insisted Alex. "Will hill him." He slurred.
Of course, I own them my very life. If it weren't for them –- that’s it, finito.
Kissing her on the lips and winking at me Alex continued bugging me: “Is this right?”
For like ten minutes I was staring in the infinity in the emptiness… Then I yelled: "Why are you sucking her? Get away from her, let her lay there quietly."
Only to hear some nonsensical mumbling.
"But I want you to work on the position, is this position right?"
"Right, just fuck off of her."
Meanwhile Kuz, I noticed, was taking off his pants. He said: “Let him go fuck himself. Motherfucker is gonna fuck us up today, if he doesn’t want it, so fuck it.”
Now I thought I knew what they wanted from me.
I saw Alex’s naked butt as he laid on the stage, banging the girl and his ass wiggled.
I started sketching their nude asses.
My consciousness was still in the process of transforming.
I thought of how interesting were their poses.
Lorenzo came up to me and took the brushes from my hands placing all in my field easel he closed up.
"Listen, J-man, you’re being a fucking buzzkill. Go draw some vases, fuck off to another studio. You don’t want it. For free?"
I didn't understand him what did he mean. He explained:
"What do you see Alex is doing right now?"
"He is fucking his girlfriend." I said.
Lorenzo continued:
"Whose girlfriend? What we have here is a
scientist, from the med school who is helping us in our artistic quests, to understand the core of anatomy not only from the outside but from the inside. I recommend you, in order to comprehend, as you must know, you can only know the truth from the inside, experiencing the inside, to understand the outside. That’s why I seize the brushes. Here is another glass of wine. Drink!"
I looked at him as a doctor listening to his drunken bullshit.
"The most important thing for you is to understand from the inside. See, you can’t understand it from the outside, it’s not how things are done."
"Yes knowing the internal anatomy helps, take a muscle, body doesn’t exist without muscles." I agreed.
"Hell yeah, yeah… ha ha…that’s what I am going about. Look how Alex is working how he is learning."
I looked at the bare ass's motions back and forth, at the girl who was lifting her legs and actively moving her hips. Alex jumped off, wiped up his cock with the drapery, he also wiped out the girl. “Who is next?”
Kuz was kissing her from one side, when Lorenzo said:
"He worked very hard today, he must learn from the inside. You see, because he just can’t break through the inside."
When Kuz was mounting her, Lorenzo spanked him loudly:
"You can wait, the man needs the muse, get it? Understanding the Muse comes only from the inside.." They all bust into laughter.
Lorenzo nearly helped my cock inside the girl cheering on: "Just do it, little one, everything is gonna be great. Honey, turn him back into a soldier that we've lost."
"The man is gone, the man known yesterday is not the man you meet, forever, around the corner, in London or in the street..." chanted Nick appearing from nowhere. He continued slurring his poems.
Hearing the noise I didn’t know what’s going on as I kissed her breasts.
"Feel the forms." I heard the racket near by as I was buzzing off the wine and licking the girl's body. On the other side Lorenzo had joined in groping her breasts. To be more at ease I moved her body closer to the stage’s edge. I was on top.
I didn't hear any sounds of music, the entry door was covered with the draperies as the orgy just steamed up for the whole night.
I woke up on the stage from loud knocking.
The art students asked me what happened to the busted still life set.
I exhaled my dragon breath to hear no more questions. Took my coat and left the building. Walking the street I met Alex.
"Your face is not yet blushed, your eyes are a bit foggy, can’t say anything after the sleepless night. Like Cures Like."
He grinned getting money out of his pocket. "Let us get some treatment."
We walked to the known spot for aching heads gathering.
He's been standing at the storm door lookin out all weekend..So we finally let him out...Probably senses the buzzkill that is Winter creepin up
LP160 bare camera left high radio poppers
It feels especially weird posting this just 3 weeks or so after Creationist posted his badass Scorpius fig. I swear I had this guy planned before he uploaded Scorpius! Anyway, here's Deathstalker
Alias: Deathstalker
Real Name: Naqab Omdurman
Gender: Male
Allegiance: Villain
Backstory: Naqab's family was one filled with disease. He would watch as family members died off, one after the other. His parents would learn that Naqab has Fanconi Anemia pretty early on in his lifetime. They did everything they could to give him a normal life, and help find a cure. They feared he wouldn't make it to be 20 years old. That's when Genetech came knocking on their door. Naqab's parents were told of an experiment that could save Naqab's life with cross species genetics/DNA. The only thing is that Genetech hasn't done human trials of said experiment, so they aren't sure of the exact results. Naqab's parents didn't care though, as they thought only of trying to cure their son. So the procedure went through, and Naqab's DNA was mixed with a Deathstalker scorpion's. And through some miracle, it worked, and all traces of his Fanconi Anemia was gone. Excited, he and his parents hugged. What Naqab didn't realize was his newfound abilities. They started having an allergic reaction of sorts, which would later lead to their death. Confused, and frustrated, Naqab blamed himself for the deaths of his parents, and wanted to learn about his powers. He would soon learn that with a touch, one would get deathstalker venom inside them. While usually not able to kill adults, it seems as though the mixture of DNA has enhanced its power. He also had increased reflexes, agility, strength, and durability. With most if not all of his family being dead, he searched for a new place to call home. This led to him becoming an assassin for hire, as that was all he thought he was good for. Mayhem would hire him for many jobs, even going as far as to develop a suit for him, equipped with a tail, and stinger, which he could use to sting others with his venom. With this, he became Deathstalker, a deadly assassin, that can kill with one touch.
Status: Agent of Mayhem, along with Thrill Kill, and Buzzkill