Final catch-up dose from the summer season and just cause we got 'em a whole lotta autumn! Thought I'd start this one on the theme of (but don't miss Logic's Wu Tang collabo further below, among some strong others):
Time to finally catch up with all that music I missed this summer! All in a few massive doses of dope hits (and unknown bits) and footage. For you tuned ins: view this if the shoe fits.
I didn't grow up in the grand universe this great man created, but I've been spending more and more time there these last few years, so I guess I might've become a pretty big Marvel fan after all.
Didn't draw anything but I did write a poem:
And thus Inktober has passed us by! Alas the time.
It's been a good run. Good fun with the Drawing Grounds. Good rounds that kept pouring down. You'd think I might gripe about boring, yet I'd rise up early morning to chalk allegory clowns when I could've been snoring sound. Or on great days late nights - with demons and dormant hounds.
So I guess the story stores a little mourning now that doors go round and yore us out... but as with every lore the shore that bore a tide comes tilting by, the waves are filled and rise, and the skies form warning clouds. It seems a dawn draws forth with torment now... with yet new doodles and deliberations every day like magical dandruff off a fallen crown!
So there you have it! I think I'll keep rolling with the drawing ground rounds madness for a bit yet. Less I misstep therein stress. Looking forward to next year's Inktober now that this one's over! And back at all that's been.
I just stumbled upon this, his very last message to the world, and sadly it's as relevant now as ever. Seen in the wrong light it may be hard to see that boot, or to feel it pressing upon you if it starts doing so so ever so slightly, increasing its weight over time, but if you're aware of it then you can remove your face. You can fell your victor. There's billions of us, and there's really not many who trample us down.
Climb the pyramid and grapple that crown. Let the pyramid topple, and of us the lot, all, get back on the ground.
Winter greens. :) Within the blissful hither winter waits. Us heathens take the gates.