Humanitables

Sketching ahoy!

Flamingos & Hedgehogs

Creatures entertain me when I am ill

 

 

 

 

Lion

 

Sometimes rain can make me productive

 

 

Drawn for my brother Adrian

Heisenberg

 

A quick one on a rainy day

A Potential Prayer in Poetic Prose

Do you know how spectacular you are?  That you are equal to every tree, animal, stream, stone and star?  That you are equal to me and I equal to you?  To every peasant, banker, politician, teacher, child, queen and monk that ever was, is and will be?  How does one look upon someone who is elated and someone who is deflated and say 'YES!  We are equal!', when they themselves project that they are elated and deflated respectively? 

Is it true what they tell me?  Or is it my own imagination and creativity, running freely, that tried to make a world where I am the inbetween?  Where I am normal?  Neither elated nor deflated.  Surely that means that I am trying to see myself as the perfect balance.  Perfection itself or nothing at all.  

If I could harness that creativity, I could ride into battle with my own eternity.  An eternity where there is no elated and deflated as there is no up or down.  There is no right and left.  There is no right and wrong.  Facing my own eternity would truly be facing myself.  

Imagine riding into war on the battlefield of eternity, riding your own soul, harnessing it's power and fighting for the just cause that is your perception of self and finding that your enemy is your true self.  In this eternity that has no laws be they biological or logical, physical or metaphysical.  Your thoughtd meet your emotions.  Your soul meets yourself.  

In this eternity there is no good and evil, laws or logic.  Where science cannot help you.  Prayer cannot help you.  You can face all the thoughts and voices in your head and finally you can see who you are.  

Who will be the part of you that stands triumphant and is able to return to face the world?  The world that put all of the thoughts and voices in your head that weren't yours in the first place.  Return as your true self.  The part of you that knows it is a part of the world, that has the ability to show someone else the way to discover their true selves.  

One by one we can all help eachother find our true selves, enabling the world to discover and become it's true self.  Balanced, pure and healthy.  If that happens then we can embrace, not face, our eternity together, as one.

A Journey of Pencil Drawings

'A Clockwork Orange'.

Cover of 'A Clockwork Orange'

 

   

A Tree

A Tortoise

A Cat

An Alien

Ok. 

A Lady in a Hat

. 

A Crocodile - Freehand from my Imagination

This took a few days to finish as I had to keep taking breaks so I didn't start rushing.  

I think I might have to celebrate with a cup of tea!

Sacred Geometry : Experimentation

Sacred Geometry : Take 1

I discovered Sacred Geometry on a YouTube video.  I was completely obsessed by it and started playing around with the concept.  Here are some samples from my first day as a Sacred Geometrist!

My Favourite Tree : Experiment

My Favourite Tree

My favourite tree in the park. 

Poetry for Non-Humans

Poetry should teach all endangered animals how to text

And encourage all successful animals to give to charity

Poetry should teach elephants about yoga

And convince polar bears to try out sunbathing

Inspire badgers to wear waistcoats

And foxes to wear monicles

And let them meet up and go shooting on the weekend

Poetry should allow skunks to sleep in sock drawers

And birds to fly spaceships

Encourage whales to join opera houses 

And invite racehorses to take up golf in retirement

Teach zebras what spots are 

And dalmations about stripes

Make cheetahs play fair

And sloths to play chess

Encourage rabbits to listen properly

And hippos to cover their mouths

Tell donkeys the story of the cross

And let little frogs play hopscotch

Teach all birds to swim

And all fish to sing

And teach all ignorant human beings

The joy nature can bring

The Drug-Eaters Cover Prototype

Snail

What For?

All of you look the same

No, not you

But those people

Clutching coffee in one hand

And my f**king, shaking soul in the other

More often than not their faces don't match their legs

Despite the fact that the entirety of their ensemble does

Faces of bottled sun bronze and legs of winter pale

Though the impeccable power suit looks intense as it rushes to nowhere

Tell me

Is it all looks at what you do?

Are brains required at all?

I'll bet the electronic pulses in your brain are the most monotonous electronic pulses ever

For when I observe you all

Busying your lives away

Things don't feel right inside

I think on some level a bit of me dies

But with it comes a sense of pride

As I am really glad I am me

That's me I said not you

Oh but I do like that bag with those shoes

I really truly do

Le Monstre and The Drink

Le Monstre and The Snake

The Guardian of The Drug Eaters- MARY JANE by Lady Dalston (Chapter 2)

'Hours can be spent looking at the same thing...hours
Hours can be spent laughing at the same thing...hours
Hours cabn be spent musing at the same thing...hours
Hours can be spent smoking the same thing...hours
Hours can be spent falling for the same thing....hours
Time consuming hours can be spent with the time consuming Mary Jane
Hours'

At first it is very exciting.  Borderline legal, borderline illegal.  The equipment is new and makes young tactile fingers twitch.  Rebellious, even if everyone you know already dabbles.

Watching your companions drop one by one, like sleepy bumblebees on a warm hot summers day.  What had started as civillised, witty and slightly intellectual conversation slipped ever so subtely to immature giggling.
Gradually movements become slow and cumbersone.  Conversation dropped to a minimalistic state rotating amongst the same topics.  The room becomes foggy, the walls swirling, people become unfocused and time becomes irrelevant.  Time could stand frozen or accelerate at an alarming rate.

As a Gaurdian, this world was most tiresome.  the once entrancing bits and pieces seems messy, the stinging eyes uncomfortable, the conversation tiring, the empty snack packets strewn clumsily seemed to spread and the lack of movement, words and life was stifling.

And yet, the Drug Eaters consumed and consumed.  More and more.  A never ending cycle of rolling on and on. 

Take a bit, grind, grab a paper, add tobacco, add weed, tear off a roach, roll roach, add roach to paper, roll, lick, admire, light, inhale, hold, exhale, smile and descend into highness.  

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Repeat.

As a Gaurdian you watch.  Always watching.  The endless cycle.  Amid curiosity and defiance.  Someone has to offer to go to the shop and feed the munchies.  Someone has to want to get fresh air.  Someone has to be able to get up.

However one cannot be defiant forever.  There comes a time when the joint assumes it can pass you but because you are a Gaurdian, not a Drug Eater.  Anyone would be tempted but a Gaurdian?  At that point your hand is outstretched, taking it from the air and taking a puff.  Casually, as if it is a regular thing.  Easy to pull off due to the careful observation over time.  Ignoring the raised eyebrows, grateful fo the lack of verbal acknowledgement from the Drug Eaters and embracing the descent into highness.
Before too long the Gaurdians are able to settles into the Drug Eaters rountine.  On repeat, On repeat. It is a welcome break from keeping a watchful eye open. Now everything is cloudy. A different kind of safe. Safe from responsibility.  For a brief time a Gaurdian wandered in the Land of the Drug Eaters.  Taking in everything, good and bad.  There was no hostility from the Drug eaters or the Lands itself.  No pride, no shame and no regret of having been the circle that had enticed a Guardian from its post.  A line had been crossed but the world hadn't ended.

Sometimes everything was hysterical. Joyful.  Nothing could be more funny than what we could see.  Everyone was witty.  A change of octave in a song was beautiful.  Nothing tasted better than when it was feeding the munchies.  The room had never spun so gently.  The smoke hung delicately in the air.  Hours became minutes.  Seconds became weeks.  Silence could be so peaceful or happy.  The senses came alive and were dullled simultaneously in that someone stroking your neck felt incredible but to tray and focus your eyes became impossible.

As a Guardian it was entering the unknown.  Finally to experiance what the Drug Eaters did with such ease and familiarity.  Finally to understand why this process was so delightful to repeat.  To master the art of creating a joint.  To become proficient at rolling.  Skills, emotions, experiences, knowledge that no Guardian has dare lean before.  To learn to judge the quality of the herbs, how to convince a dealer to lave the house and meet you because you could barely stand up, to know you've got a good deal and when you've been ripped off.

  Oh to explain the excitement of a Gaurdian treading through the world they had been convinced they had to watch over!

As a Guardian you look back at the time spent watching over the Drug Eaters who spent their evenings, afternoons, nights and mornings in the company of Mary Jane with  hint of remorse.  Time wasted surely?  These drug eaters were safe.  Even without their Guardian nothing happened.  A false mission? Or run thorugh? Or a test? A rehearsal, training a preperation for the future missions that were coming?  If that was the case it was tempting to believe that I had already failed.  Or, and by far the more appealing, this Guardian had learnt a valuable lesson.  Delving into the Drug eater lands had opened both eyes and mind, given valuable insight and an enjoyable experience.  

 

But a Guardian can always say no right?  A Guardians is always ready to watch over a Drug Eater.  To that we can never say no.

FOX

The Fool and The Whore

The Fool and The Whore by Lady Dalston

A pale young man
In a waistcoat and cap
Wound through the streets of London
By a flimsy hand writ map
He was strictly brought up
Believed the words of the church were true
If only he knew what was coming
O' God if only he knew
'Head to Mrs Warrens'
His friends had declared
But nothing more was revealed
No, nothing more was shared
Suddenly there it was
He could hear ecstasy and din
For there lay Mrs Warrens House
In all its splendour, glory and sin
Corsets and skirts were all he could see
As well as breasts and thighs
He could hear the heavy breathing of men
He could hear their lusty sighs
Out of the door came a beautiful creature
All laced in the right places
Never had he seen such a form
Never seen such a face among faces
Under her eyelashes she looked
At this young man, pale and thin
And her voice floated over to him
'My dear are you coming in?'
His body instantly tightened
He felt  full of indignation
How dare she embarrass him so
With her games of sordid flirtation
'No you whore' he muttered darkly
Instantly regretting that expression
For she was a beautiful creature
Though shamed in Mrs Warrens profession
'What was that young man?'
As if she hadn't heard
'Don't you think to insult me
You simpleton, you nerd!'
'You heard me you tart
I won't follow you inside
Not where its demeaning and degrading
To one's pride'
'You moronic imbecile
You cretin, you jerk
What's it to you
Where I choose to work?
I'm a member of the oldest profession
And yes I do walk the street
But this cat-house young man
Will never be obselete
Oh you can can call it shameful
Sinful and betraying
But what about those men in there
Who for my 'love', they are paying?
So you can call me a tart
Or  a slut or a whore
But our houses of ill-repute
Will always have men at the door!'
The young man hung his head
He didn't know what to say
But then she leant forward and whispered
'Pick me and you won't have to pay!'
'So what do you say?'
She said with a wink
And kissed him hard
Before he could think
He ran behind her
Hunting her up the stairs
Forgetting all in his mind
His beliefs and his cares
They didn't sleep a wink
Filled with joy and delight
By morning they were exhausted
For he'd shagged her all night
Together they lay
He rested on her chest
But as he woke up
She was ready and dressed
'Farewell young man' she said
As she tightened a lace
Then she stopped and giggled
At the horror on his face
'Oh you silly young moron
You love me now don't you?
Well come back with some money
And then I'll love you too'
She put on her gloves and hat
And she swept out the the door
And the fool comforted his broken heart
Betrayed by the whore