Robert Watts

Started my libretto for a horror themed 20,000 leagues under the sea opera!!

This scene is when one of the crew mates gets his head exploded by a broken lever (due to Nemo’s secret ramming adventures)!

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

Gay Sailor Tattoos.

All documented and logged from actual seamen.

This is Nemo 100% in my mind

Happy New Year!!

are you mad at me: deconstructive, assumes the other person’s feelings, accusatory more than inquisitive

do you want me to kill myself: broaches a problem and solution in one, prioritizes action over feelings, proactive in seeking a resolution

Не бесите его он и так бешеный

remember in sonic x when topaz on screen took rouge on a date, have her a gemed ring and then fell on the floor sobbing when they’d never see each other again like they really did that

Barn Owl by Gwen Harwood

Daybreak: the household slept.

I rose, blessed by the sun.

A horny fiend, I crept

out with my father's gun.

Let him dream of a child

obedient, angel-mind-

old no-sayer, robbed of power

by sleep. I knew my prize

who swooped home at this hour

with day-light riddled eyes

to his place on a high beam

in our old stables, to dream

light's useless time away.

I stood, holding my breath,

in urine-scented hay,

master of life and death,

a wisp-haired judge whose law

would punish beak and claw.

My first shot struck. He swayed,

ruined, beating his only

wing, as I watched, afraid

by the fallen gun, a lonely

child who believed death clean

and final, not this obscene

bundle of stuff that dropped,

and dribbled through the loose straw

tangling in bowels, and hopped

blindly closer. I saw

those eyes that did not see

mirror my cruelty

while the wrecked thing that could

not bear the light nor hide

hobbled in its own blood.

My father reached my side,

gave me the fallen gun.

'End what you have begun.'

I fired. The blank eyes shone

once into mine, and slept.

I leaned my head upon

my father's arm, and wept,

owl blind in early sun

for what I had begun.

The School of Susthens