[backflips into the moon]


honey and the bee (owl city)

supposedly for the balloon challenge thingy. i was obliged to draw like 160-something balloons which is draining. ok let’s just say dipper’s red balloon is equal to that 160-something balloons because he means that much to mabel (or even more). im out

wat team

Sometimes I forget that Josh has changed. I feel as if he has always been flaming-hair, flurried-drumbeats Josh. I feel like he’s always had a history with Debby Ryan, attended the Oscars, and went to an after party with other musicians. I imagine him going home as that kid up on the stage with his crimson eyes and blood-red drumsticks. I can never imagine him as “Josh who knew no celebrities, much less dated one” even though that is who he used to be. No, no, there is no way drumming Josh used to take turns at the wheel before they could afford a bus or a driver. There is no way he can be the same person fueled on coffee and nerves instead of Ramen, trying to get to a festival four towns over. No, he is trees finale Josh, with sweat and confetti and a backflip so high his feet brush the moon. He is dark clothes Josh, hoping fans don’t run after him as he leaves the venue at night. I think to myself, “how can he be wrestling with anxiety. He is no-shirt, muscled, grinning Josh with the hair so bright you can see it from space. Anxiety would be no match for someone who’s traveled to every corner of the globe and seen the oceans from an airplane.

But then I remember. Despite, it all, I remember. And then there is brown haired, quiet eyed Josh again- in the form of a picture, a song from RAB, the way the summer wind blows hotly through the grass, and I wonder if they ever played a concert in weather like this. I scroll down his instagram until I see sunglass-selfies and pictures with cousins, before he even knew what the inside of a touring van looked like. I look through pages of old photos of him: when he drummed in House of Heroes. When Twenty One Pilots first asked him on stage. With the brown hair and quietness that occupies every photo of him, he is a little Columbus boy. Anxiety seems a lot scarier to someone with brown hair, a love for his church, and dreams too big for his head.

I wonder, sometimes, if he’s the same boy inside. If he returned from tour to a dangerously quiet home. If he shaved his head because he missed the brown, and the way he could let it see the sun without everyone staring. Maybe his family is forgetting he’s famous, what he has to go back to, until he’s stopped for the third time in a day at his favorite restaurant for a picture with a fan. I wonder what he misses about checking into a music festival with a ticket that reads "C Stage” on the bottom. Anxiety feels like it would prey much easier on someone who was still trying to make it. It feels like a bedroom monster, not an airplane seat monster. I wonder if he shaved his head to bring back just a little bit of the baseball-cap boy who set out so long ago.
I wonder if he wants to go Home.

I forget that he’s changed. I feel as if brown-haired Josh is someone I used to know. Where has he gone? Is he still there? Has he been taken care of? Does a stranger or a brother come home from tour? How has fame rubbed him away?

Has anyone else forgotten that Josh hasn’t always been Grammy Award Winning, Madison Square Garden Performer Joshua William “Spooky Jim” Dun?
Does anyone else remember that he used to be just Josh?

AYYY it’s Pigeon back at it again with the ooc nonsense. Somehow I managed to get 300+ followers on a blog for a character from a very old famicom game that’s never officially been localised which is just Wild™ to me, but I’ve gotta say it’s been a thrill already. This isn’t my first Fire Emblem character ( yoink, he’s second :T ) but it’s the first time I’ve ever bothered actually engaging with the community a little and I’ve gotta say, I’m super glad I did!! I still haven’t been here that long and I’m still all hearteyes at all of you guys. I’ve been Pokémon-Community-Ride-Or-Die for years but you guys make me so so happy about branching out a little bit; I’ve gotten to meet a lot of really lovely super talented people with incredible ideas and I’m just so glad to have been exposed to so many friendly creative folks.

                                                          Anywho I’m a weenie :T

Onward to the shoutouts!! Even though I love you all, but shoutouts!!

Keep reading


All the current concept art for my sick new anime, LONG ————- WOLF. It’s gonna be the hot new thing,  I SWEAR. 

Long Wolf is a sort of cowboy-mercenary vigilante type-dude in a post-apocalyptic desert wasteland. Little do his enemies know, he wields a power far deadlier than his oversized sniper-rifle: his lycanthropy. Except for some reason he transforms into a really long, like, dachsund wolf instead of a cool normal one. Go figure.

We made this in class, it was a group effort.

How to Draw a Perfect Circle

I can imitate the spheres of the model’s body, her head,
Her mouth, the chin she rests at the bend of her elbow
But nothing tells me how to make the pupils spiral

From her gaze. Everything the eye sees enters a circle,
The world is connected to a circle: breath spools from the nostrils
And any love to be open becomes an O. The shape inside the circle

Is a circle, the egg fallen outside the nest the serpent circles
Rests in the serpent’s gaze the way my gaze rests on the model.
In a blind contour drawing the eye tracks the subject

Without observing what the hand is doing. Everything is connected
By a line curling and canceling itself like the shape of a snake
Swallowing its own decadent tail or a mind that means to destroy itself,

A man circling a railway underpass before attacking a policeman.
To draw the model’s nipples I have to let myself be carried away.
I love all the parts of the body. There are as many curves

As there are jewels of matrimony, as many whirls as there are teeth
In the mouth of the future: the mute pearls a bride wears to her 
The sleeping ovaries like the heads of riders bunched in a tunnel.

The doors of the subway car imitate an O opening and closing,
In the blood the O spirals its helix of defects, genetic shadows,
But there are no instructions for identifying loved ones who go crazy.

When one morning a black man stabs a black transit cop in the face
And the cop, bleeding from his eye, kills the assailant, no one traveling
To the subway sees it quickly enough to make a camera phone 

The scene must be carried on the tongue, it must be carried
On the news into the future where it will distract the eyes working
Lines into paper. This is what blind contour drawing conjures in me.

At the center of God looms an O, the devil believes justice is shaped
Like a zero, a militant helmet or war drum, a fist or gun barrel,
A barrel of ruined eggs or skulls. To lift anything from a field

The lifter bends like a broken O. The weight of the body
Lowered into a hole can make anyone say Oh: the onlookers,
The mother, the brothers and sisters. Omen begins with an O.

When I looked into my past I saw the boy I had not seen in years
Do a standing backflip so daring the onlookers called him crazy.
I did not see a moon as white as an onion but I saw a paper plate

Upon which the boy held a plastic knife and sopping meat.
An assailant is a man with history. His mother struggles
To cut an onion preparing a meal to be served after the funeral.

The onion is the best symbol of the O. Sliced, a volatile gas stings
The slicer’s eyes like a punishment clouding them until they see
What someone trapped beneath a lid of water sees:

A soft-edged world, a blur of blooms holding a coffin afloat.
The onion is pungent, its scent infects the air with sadness,
All the pallbearers smell it. The mourners watch each other,

They watch the pastor’s ambivalence, they wait for the doors to open,
They wait for the appearance of the wounded one-eyed victim
And his advocates, strangers who do not consider the assailant’s funeral

Appeasement. Before that day the officer had never fired his gun
In the line of duty. He was chatting with a cabdriver
Beneath the tracks when my cousin circled him holding a knife.

The wound caused no brain damage though his eyeball was severed.
I am not sure how a man with no eye weeps. In the Odyssey
Pink water descends the Cyclops’s cratered face after Odysseus

Drives a burning log into it. Anyone could do it. Anyone could
Begin the day with his eyes and end it blind or deceased,
Anyone could lose his mind or his vision. When I go crazy

I am afraid I will walk the streets naked, I am afraid I will shout
Every fucked up thing that troubles or enchants me, I will try to murder
Or make love to everybody before the police handcuff or murder me.

Though the bullet exits a perfect hole it does not leave perfect holes
In the body. A wound is a cell and portal. Without it the blood runs
With no outlet. It is possible to draw handcuffs using loops

Shaped like the symbol for infinity, from the Latin infinitas
Meaning unboundedness. The way you get to anything
Is context. In a blind contour it is not possible to give your subject

A disconnected gaze. Separated from the hand the artist’s eye
Begins its own journey. It could have been the same for the Cyclops,
A giant whose gouged eye socket was so large a whole onion

Could fit into it. Separated from the body the eye begins
Its own journey. The world comes full circle: the hours, the harvests,
When the part of the body that holds the soul is finally decomposed

It becomes a circle, a hole that holds everything: blemish, cell,
Womb, parts of the body no one can see. I watched the model
Pull a button loose on her jeans and step out of them

As one might out of a hole in a blue valley, a sea. I found myself
In the dark, I found myself entering her body like a delicate shell
Or soft pill, like this curved thumb of mine against her lips.

You must look without looking to make the perfect circle.
The line, the mind must be a blind continuous liquid
Until the drawing is complete.

– terrance hayes


Sound familiar?

[Doctor Who Series 1, Aliens of London]
[Doctor Who Series 8, Kill the Moon]

An American Oncer Studying Abroad in Europe
  • *alarm titled "once upon a time" goes off at 3am*
  • Me: (squints eyes open in dark dorm room) ... so tired... too early...
  • Me: ... can't do this... nope...
  • Me: ... not getting up...
  • Me: ... the episode can wait a few more hours...
  • Me: (checks phone Tumblr tag) Wait what does that gif read... is that... did Killian just call her 'my love?'...
  • My confused Pokemon: *confusion lasts for like 80 turns* It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion! It hit itself in its confusion!
  • My opponent's confused Pokemon: *confusion lasts for 2 turns* *pokemon does a triple backflip, flies to the moon, and shoots me from there with scary precision*