Woody.
——
It’s a party, it’s a holiday, it’s a tack that holds up the year.
It’s anticipation and it’s preparation and it ends in release!
It’s intoxication! Liberation! Clothing only your face and feeling different than you do when it’s bare. It’s a natural high before you even get to the gathering.
It’s part of the ritual.
That must be what you’re feeling, in your bones, in your skin. It wasn’t there last year, but maybe this year’s special.
You feel thoughts buzzing in a different part of your brain. You feel the world in scents and instinct. Something base and old, in there with you, behind the mask.
Must be the wine! Must be the flesh. Faith’s faith, but the masks are just masks.
It’s just Beltane, dear friend!
It must be.
Page notes: get your shit in on time and nobody needs to get hurt. Inking in a Starbucks using your knees as a drafting table is super unpleasant. Rain is fun, we should write it in more often. End of page notes.
Beauty pageant, Lincoln Park, 1950, Chicago.
Sweet gams and homemade murder masks. This is like a dream.
It is, though.
I found this card at the pharmacy today and it was good.
For my friends to whom this is relevant, and anybody else besides.
And now for something completely different.
What a coincidence! I was just in the mood to see Ibrahim Moustafa draw the Man of Steel.
(Ha! Psyche. I’m actually always in that mood.)
Webcomics, where they give the cow away for free and occasionally ask you if you’d like to buy the milk.
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| — | me describing the current trend of it being cheaper and cheaper to be a reader in the modern world (with all positive intentions). (via whatthehellamiwriting) |
