Yorkster

Erm. There will be art forthcoming. At some point. We apologise for the inconvenience.

Is it wrong to love the smell of linseed oil? Well, I do. Before I left the house yesterday, I had an unfriendly run-in with my palette, and got cad red and mars violet all over my fingers. I didn't think much of it, but this morning, despite the two showers I've taken in between the instance, the hand-washings and the lotion handlings, my fingers still smell like linseed oil. It's so erotic. In other news...no, I didn't finish that painting before I left home, but I should only have to do one more session on it before it's finished, and then...then I can move on to bigger and sexier things. I'm starting to seriously contemplate starting t

Hey, man, lookat me rawkin' out, I'm in the radio. I do not like mornings. I don't do mornings. I...just wanted to change the face of my journal. It's not like I ever manage to ever blog, either. The desire has completely left me. So my computer is doing a scan, and I have halfarsed time to ramble on about the importance of being earnest, and pitying the poor sod Ernest for what he doesn't deserve. I've been thinking a lot about vampire fiction. It's bizarrely entertaining, in concept, but the charm of it fades very quickly if one overindulges. Hey, I like semi-human mythological creatures just as much as the next git, but...oh, that's