sweet love

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I went out to play
On a virtuous day
In this sea they call sweet love.
I found a nice girl,
So i gave her a twirl
And tried on her velvet glove.
She gave me a smile
Then laughed for a long while.
I’m sure she thought of a joke,
   A joke,
   A joke,
I’m sure sure she thought of a joke.

still thinking about thesis

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My thesis is //

// Essentially the split between reality and reality.

There is the reality you imagine you are in… and then the reality that really is. You are constantly constructing a false reality for yourself. (The fact that I call it a false reality is somewhat misleading. No matter how false it is, as long as it is real to you, then it remains a reality).

What truly goes on, if realized in a way that you could understand, would destroy your reality and create a new one. Humans are, after a certain age, more and more resistant to this rather personal destruction of a world they’ve long struggled to create. And so when presenting ideas to them, the best way to do it is through abstraction and fantasy.

You must lead them to these new realities by introducting new ideas in ways that do not hammer at them, but rather present themselves in ways that allow them to occur as if the subject has thought of them as his/her own.

It must, in essence, become “unreal.”

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thinking about thesis

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What is the mood I seek? That is a fairly hard question. One might say, I seek the macabre. To disgust, shock, scare and horrify. But that would be untrue. The mood I seek is that of revelation. Of truth. My mental model of the world is based on what I consider irrefutable, sometimes harsh, truths. Truths that people do not want to admit to, but exist nonetheless. I like, admire, and seek to exemplify those works which dig at the so called “dirty” heart of humankind or indeed of life in general.

But, to do so is difficult. One cannot just say “such and such a thing is true” or “this is what you must believe.” People do not respond well to that sort of diatribe. You have to coax them, startle them, or somehow guide them along a path to an idea. You must force them to reveal the idea to themselves. Only then will they know it is true. Writers have been doing this since before we can remember. The world of literature has been exposing these truths time and time again. But in animation… it is rare that I see this happen. Sometimes it does. Don’t get me wrong. But not nearly as often.

And this is what I wish to do. Almost all of the stories I tell (written or digital) has dealt with something along this line. Though really, I don’t think of it in such terms. In my head, I usually think: “This is what I think and this is what I feel. Now how can I abstract it so that others may draw the same conclusions.”

Mental connections

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Thinking about how people communicate, how they connect. Over time, it constantly evolves. I’m attempting to create a digital-mental connector.

It’s here.

11 words at random

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huge beautiful woman

her delicious heaven

down here

take bite


i’ve seriously been slacking here. but last two days have been too busy.
here’s a poem made with 11 words i chose at random. damn it i still have to put up that story i promised. tonight. maybe.

thesis story ideas

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I’ll actually revisit these at some point, but these are the first 3 ideas I have for thesis stories. In the end I’ll probably combine their best elements.


Time. It’s like a warm explosion of sunlight. This hesitation makes for a flare a constant state of change this thing. And then there is the other on the horizon. Hovering. But slowly drawing closer and pushing the other away. Like balance except it orbits in circles.


There is a rather enjoyable feeling to chewing a piece of gum. A gnashing a thrasing of the teeth that is confident even as the teeth destroy themselves through repetitive motion. The stringy strands that sing, stretch and *pop*. The bubbles that vanish even before they appear. There is a manchild masochist in the bubbles. It appears he likes being chewed on.


A shadow. Pool of darkness to be stepped in. Consumes. You are fearful. You are brave. It seeps in through the cracks. Only when you take it on and absorb it and absorb you do you die and survive.

she is the queen…

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she is the queen…
and the troops are coming to get her.
roaring and thundering through
the night, they ride down the
backwood ways. she is the queen and
her hair
flows like silver. shutter windows close
as the hooves come crashing down.
she is a queen and
her blood will flow like water.
little does she know.
soon they will show.

inspired by carolina