I feel like writing a long, rambling post circa three years ago but I can't unless I sit down and write on paper, if I'm writing more than a paragraph I need paper nowadays. I used to be able to connect things better back then but I've realised that it isn't really my call, all that declaiming. This blog's more annoying and more depressing than the others and it's infinitely more difficult to hit Publish here but things come out easier. Think what you say versus mean what you say, I'm kicking it out of the ballpark as far as writing stiltedly goes but it was bound to happen, wasn't it. Doesn't stop me from writing this post, though, I'm going to force it out if it kills me. This is where you start hugging yourself for warmth.

(Excellent. I'm doing it already.)

I bought three books today. Two travelogues. Colin Thubron's Among The Russians and Dan Jacobson's The Electronic Elephant. One noir. Waltz Into Darkness by Cornell Woolrich. I found out later that he wrote the story Rear Window is based upon. Hopefully I'll read these by the end of the year, hopefully someday I'll read every book I own before I buy any more, or switch to shoes or something. Till then I'm going to stock up for the library I'll have when I start living on my own and need to spend on more important things, like bottled water and soap and mosquito fumigation agencies.

Then I found Van Gogh brushes on dA. I've been tinkering around a lot with brushes on Photoshop but I can't do anything very useful (or appealing) with them. These, however, work like a dream and MS Paint is now close to facing mutiny.

First attempt at fooling around:




This is the painting version of a macro shot of a very colourful snail shell. Evidently these brushes work like Vincent only if you are Vincent.

Two tries later, to my mild astonishment, I got something less Van Gogh and more Roerich. Or maybe that's in my head.



It looks better if you click full view. I call this masterpiece Pointy Mountains.

Also. Before I forget, today was the day we were introduced to the the Weiner of Respectability prevalent in Oscar Wilde's time.

And now that I've finished uploading I don't have much incentive to write, besides I'm pretty sick of this post already so there you go; I've decided that the next one will be more than a little broody. It's a beautiful world, let's take a moment to appreciate the insides of our eyelids.

=)