Feeling #corny. Think I Might Tell Some #cheesy #jokes #pun

and my mum wants to have a flower garden... not gonna design that for her if scary ass bugs like that gonna be all up in it!

Part of a poster design for a really great short: Hitgirl Handguns... Its almost done. These are drafts from Sketchbook. 

kbanfield check this out for inspiration... just kinda reminded me of you

Runaway Kali ~ by Laura O’Connor http://cargocollective.com/lauraoconnor http://society6.com/LauraOConnor/prints

On the other side of time. I found my self in the belly of a hundred-year-old clock tower, the gears frozen in time. I saw glimpses of the past in the cobwebs and graffiti and dust. Yet when I looked through the crack in the glass of clock's face i saw a future that spread out over the open savannah, endless opportunities, all from an uplifted perspective.

Life would be nice here... *sigh*

Homestead in Arnastapi, Iceland.

Contributed by Ulrich Zinell.

Classic Rosette Inlay

This old guitar is so full of tone and inspiration for me. It plays so well too.

The Caveman

Painting pictures on the walls of our modern caves.

Something peculiar about this man. At the time I didn't want to approach him so I took the shot from afar [250mm | f8 | 1/80sec | ISO200] - fyi. In retrospect getting close to him would have made a better shot with more his story visible. Now I know. His eyes must have seen a lot. 

The Caveman.

Painting pictures on the walls of our modern caves.

That's a lot of wine... Love the interior though

Coopered cabin near Luleå, Sweden. It’s made from a barrel once used to carry wine on a ship many years ago.

The lovely moon as seen from Trinidad... It's beautiful that it is like a whole planet within an arms reach. Its also beautiful that it is the same moon we see the world over. That truly connects us all.

The Caveman.

Drawing pictures on the walls of our modern caves.

Late night writings #1

And I sat and wondered on the universe, and all the things that settled on the surface of our world and my brow furrowed...

Why do we kick up the dust that we were birthed from?

Why do we spit on the womb from which we emerged?

Emerged immersed in purity that we proceed to tarnish, developing a hideous patina we call beauty... Why?