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Commissions

Wed Jun 17, 2009, 3:19 PM
I am accepting commissions. This is the first time I have done this in ten years. Here's how it goes:

Finished sketch: $10
Inked drawing: $20
Coloured drawing: $30

For examples of my work: [link]

Promptness guaranteed.
Price negotiable.
Msg me here or email me skauthen at-that-crazy-gmail place

Keep in mind, I am anticipating character sketches. If you want me to draw an elaborate background, multiple characters, or a fleet of X-wings, I may be required to charge a higher fee ;)

If you are not interested, consider passing this along to friends. I have won a highly coveted exchange position that allows me to study at a university in London for a year. However, I cannot go if I can't get the moola together. Thanks for stopping by! <3

Devious Journal Entry

Sat Nov 1, 2008, 10:20 AM
There was a time when I had nothing to explain
oh, this mess I have made
but then things got complicated
my innocence has all but faded
oh, this mess I have made

And I don't believe in god
so I can't be saved
all alone as I've learned to be
in this mess i have made

All the untested virtue
the things I said I'd never do
least of all to you
I know she's kind and true
I know that she is good to you
she'll never care for you more than I do

But I don't believe in love
so I can't be changed
all alone as I've learned to be
in this mess
I have made the same mistakes
over and over again

There are rooms in this house that I don't open anymore
dusty books of pictures on the floor
that he will never see
he'll never see that part of me
I want to be for him
what I could never be for you


Mess, Ben Folds Five

The Hour

Thu Nov 15, 2007, 12:41 PM
"The Hour" by Michael Lind

Maybe the moment recurs daily at six, when commuters,
freed from the staring computers,
elbow and bump in unsought intimacy on a station
platform with you, and frustration
rots what is left of your strength. Maybe the hour comes after
dinner, when televised laughter
seeps from a neighboring room; maybe the time is the dead of
night, when you ponder, instead of
dreaming. Whatever the time, you will escape it—by sinking
down with a book, or by drinking
secretly out in the dark studio, or by unbuckling
pants on a stranger, or chuckling,
one with a mob, in a deep theater. Soon, though, the hour
comes to corrode all your power,
pleasure and faith with the damp dread that it daily assigns you.
How you evade it defines you.

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