There’s A Level Of Confessional That Only Occurs When Someone Is Driving You Home Late At Night

i love to 👍 i'm a thumbs-upper in real life and online

peak of simplistic silent communication to me

What part of the mundane and joy can I not creatively interpret?

To paint your emotions is one thing, to be confined to sadness is another.

Creativity sparked by death is grim, using grief as paint I finished the forest scenery

each brush strokes repeats the motion of her hands combing my hair

each detail I add she undo a knot,

each rocks and tree I paint she plaits my hair, with the same care and softness as I add the shadows.

everyone stop making books and movies for 5 years I need to catch up

the pen testing pads at art stores are the only worthwhile social media platform

I think Jay Gatsby pathetic yearning is admirable and something we can learn from

My asshole coach took me out of today’s game because I missed practice one (1) day last week but it’s fine because I forgot what having a free morning felt like. I slept in, woke up, had my vitamins and a glass of water, stretched, went on a quick 5 mile run, got home and smoked half a joint, took nudes downstairs in front of the giant antique mirror in my living room, made shakshuka to have with the fresh sourdough loaf a friend made me yesterday, let my animals roam outside while I watered my plants, laid under the running water until I climaxed and then took a long cold shower, laid in bed and let the sunlight peaking from the blinds kiss my skin for a few minutes, put on the first thing I could find and my favorite flip flops, changed out my cars cds, and now I’m sitting here debating what to listen to on my way to the farmer’s market to stock up on my favorite decadent coconut yogurt and some things to make ‘nduja and gorgonzola pasta for dinner. I’m thinking it’s a red house painters and bob dylan kind of day

Posing guide 101