@axonsandsynapses / axonsandsynapses.tumblr.com
Did I ever post the finished Lascaux (& etc) horses here?!
This first batch of them will be available in my next shop update, but there are more getting bisque-fired tomorrow that should be going into the shop in mid-April alongside a couple more cave painting mugs :)
Tired baby
genuinely wish i could
I think at this point, my Crow Time comic is a fantasy comic.
It’s the Velveteen Rabbit but stabby.
I love this comic so much I had to try to make the crow plush a reality
steph teaching cass 2007 memes instead of helping her learn to read
Threatening Storm, Me, Pen and Ink, 2021
I hope everyone enjoys this little Crow Time update about the commonality of love! Even stars have travel buddies, that's what constellations are for.
If you like my work, do me a favor and donate a little to the PCRF to help children and families in Gaza. It's easy to do, kind to do, and do not feel guilty if you do not have much to give. Everything counts.
This is Shakespearian.
I never want to see another post about environmental storytelling.
but soft what ball through yonder concrete breaks
Shout out to the SSRI that duct tapes my brain together everyday!!! (The withdrawal goes crazy tho)
Kasamatsu Shiro Flowers of all seasons
I see this pop up in my notes on capsfromtrek often and I’ve figured it was just relatable.
But I just realized I posted this in December 2019, so now I get why people have been reblogging this post with “mood” for 3 years straight lol.
Volkan Coşkun - Bodrum
Feeling compelled to take a moment to document this saddest looking little dog I saw today.
Illustration by Eileen Mayo for Best Cat Stories, edited by Michael Joseph, 1952.
My housemate reminded me of a flashbulb memory I have that I really wish I had a photograph of because it would be a magnificent image to inflict on the internet at large with Zero Context, but I'll try to describe it here, and then draw it after dinner.
Image Description:
As seen from about three feet off the ground: Interior, the den of an american suburban house built at the height of the atomic age and still decorated like it years later. There's dark wood paneling about halfway up the walls that offsets the almost neon pink-orange light of late sunset visible through the large window. Every object in the room is highlighted by the last of the sunlight. The only other light in the room is a TV set that was manufactured the same year Howdy Doody debuted on air, now broadcasting PBS Newshour in black and white.
Closest to the viewer, there is a small end table with a Nearly Full Martini glass, and a Half-empty glass Martini Pitcher, indicating that two of the five martinis it holds have been poured out.
Just behind it, an old man sits in a chair that was bright green and yellow when it was new but is now more Grellow. The man is in his mid-sixites, somewhat heavyset, with a full head of snow-white hair and thick glasses. He's wearing a dark brown tweed suit with leather elbow patches, and a white cotton button-up. He's watching the news with a calm and dispassionate demeanor. Tired, but still engrossed with the world's events. He's wearing dark brown penny loafers and garish argyle socks.
Behind him is a couch that is a matched set with the armchair, with the same Grellow chevron pattern, but there is a very large crochet afghan that has been spread out over the back to be decorative and maybe protect the couch from it's current occupant: a 120lb Wolf Hybrid.
She's seated lengthwise on the couch, like she had also been watching PBS Newshour, posed like a sphynx. She's close in wieght to the man, and definitely taller than him if she stands up, with a dark gray agouti coat and a bit of white countershading from the trace of domestic dog in her. She's turned her head to the viewer, bright yellow eyes focused on them, and the fur of her head and neck haloed with the sunset. She is pleased to see the veiwer, which means most of the teeth in her lower jaw are visible in her canine grin. The effect is very menacing if you don't know her.
Clutched rather neatly between her front paws is a second, identical martini glass, only not nearly quite so full as the old man's.
Title: "Oh, I didn't think you'd be back for another hour/GODDAMIT EDWIN"
So the Context for this is that this was the third or fouth time this had happened.
The FIRST time was when my parents decided to take a long weekend up in Mendecino to concieve me. It's apparently highly unusual for people to know within a 72-hour window of when they were created, much less what album their parent's packed (Paul Simon's Graceland) but I have to say, the amount of forethought and planning that went into my creation makes me feel very loved.
One of the things they had to Plan was for someone to watch the "Dog". Mazel had already been banned from two pet daycares and forsaken from three different petsitting services and most of my parent's coworkers in the two years that they had had her, mostly because she was distressingly smart, extremely good at leaving anywhere she did not want to be, and was entirely willing to take people with her when she wanted to go.
She was, however, exceptionally fond of my grandparents, probably because my grandfather could make friends with anyone, and my grandmother was also That Bitch (TM) when needed so Mazel felt very secure that Grandma could handle any REAL problems that might occur, so she was free to manipulate grandpa into doing whatever she wanted. Like going to the extremely expensive Golf Course nearby and letting her stalk the Bourgeoisie for fun.
Now, my grandfather was never drunk in front of his children, absolutely never got behind the wheel of a car if he was not 100% alert and was one of the gentlest souls on the planet, but he lived before they invented SSRI's and so he coped with the Depression, ADHD and PTSD he never talked about by coming home from work, sitting down in His Chair and drinking an entire pitcher of Martinis while he watched the news.
It's what passed for Self-Care the 1950's.
Anyway, before they left, Mom happened to mention to Grandpa that Mazel sometimes liked to sit on the couch and watch the news with her, so don't be surprised if she wants to do that with you.
What my grandfather apparently heard was "She's a sociable creature, you should be sociable too, and in the style of a Silent Generation Irish-American Man, pour the nice lady a drink as well :)"
Both my parents lectured Grandpa extensively about how YOU SHOULD NOT GIVE DOGS ALCOHOL, AT ALL, EVER! WE DON'T CARE IF SHE DIDN'T SEEM TO FEEL IT!!
What my grandfather apparently heard was "It's fine but you shouldn't worry your daughter-in-law while she is carrying your first grandchild, so just don't tell her next time :)"
A few years later my parents took another trip to Mendecino to make my sister and I spent three days with one of my parent's friends and her pet macaw that gave me a permanent and entirely justified fear of parrots, but they came back, collected me and took me with them to collect Mazel. We made startlingly good time for California Traffic, and I, age three, sprinted into the house to see my beloved Lupine Guardian, to be greeted with the scene described above.
Granpa, realizing he'd been caught in the act, decided to pretend the thing my parents were turning red about was him not meeting them at the door and not, say, the fact he'd been lightly poisoning Mazel or the prospect of having to take a drunk wolf to an unfamiliar vet, said "Oh sorry, I thought you wouldn't be here for another hour!"
Which is how I learned my grandpa's middle name was "Richard" and that you could all-three-names an adult if you wanted to, which is an unholy amount of power for an autistic preschooler to have.
(I decided it looked a bit like an Album Cover, so I made it one. Feat songs like "Three-name family" and "Pebble Beach Predator Bedlam")
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