SKETCHBOOK: Fatman and Little Boy at Starbucks

SKETCHBOOK: 4 COWBOYS

OR wanna be cowboys, at least….

 

SKETCHBOOK: Skeletor, Happiest Goth on Earth, Wolverine

Skeletor, Happiest Goth on Earth, Wolverine; I think I was trying out a new pen or something….

 

SKETCHBOOK: Blind Gestures and Sketches

 

I think that day I was stuck somewhere, sketching away and Brad and Angelina’s baby picture thing was the big news. Ugh.  Blind Gestures and Sketches

 

SKETCHBOOK: I’ll race you to….

Another Moleskine, Another cover….

 

SKETCHBOOK: CHROMATIC LABEL COLLAGE no.11

Another one of my Label art pieces, this one especially tall.

SKETCHBOOK: Psycho Titties

I remember in college there was a girl, (isn’t that always the story?)  and she was kind of cool and all that, but supposedly in a relationship she was a FUCKING PSYCHO. Like burn the house down with you in it kind of psycho, okay? This isn’t just texting every 10 minutes psycho-lite, now with less calories, but the big bold taste of fucking CRAZY DADDY ISSUES that wreaks havoc wherever she goes.

It was odd, because she was really nice when you knew her and cool, but you talked to any of her ex’s and they had this look on their face like they were veterans from some war, the first 10 second of ONE by Metallica would be playing when they started talking about her. I would shake my head, even thinking that maybe we were talking about the wrong person. She couldn’t she seemed so nice.

Now we nick-named her psycho-titties because the other attribute about her, true and through, was that she had a nice body and a pretty face, but she had, well, you guessed it, AMAZING TITS. Like Amazing.  Like sculpted. Like this is what other women pay crazy money to get done to them, and men pay crazy money just to look at or touch.  Unfortunately they were attached to a nut job, supposedly. For a while I dismissed it, and thought that it was just some bullshit people say after a break up and yadda-yadda-yadda.

Until...