With little rhyme or reason.

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Imagination is such a wonderful thing, but sometimes, it can also be scary. I kept having a nightmare about a doll house, a very Tim Burton-esque building with black bricks, dirty windows, and bleeding walls. I usually like creepy old Victorian dolls, but I remember very much not liking them in the nightmare. Everything in my mind seemed to be torn from other things and stitched together with little rhyme or reason. The above stitched together thing with little rhyme or reason was the best my waking mind could render the terrifying place that I visited in sleep. Once I created this digital version of my nightmare, the nightmare stopped coming, even though I hoped it would return. I still hope it will return. I had much more exploring to do.

When I was a kid, I wanted to draw cartoons. I also wanted to be a writer, and immortal. Lofty dreams, I know, and I still haven’t given up on the immortality thing yet.

You got a cartoon, now here is something I wrote down because sometimes words fall out of my brain and need to land somewhere, usually with little rhyme or reason:

Stasis; incomplete
Mourning, sigh, sorrow meet.
Bloodied fingernails
Listing, counting, mounting fails.
Crying out.
Selling out.
Sigh.
No one understands.

Buried alive.
Denied.
Tried.
Petrified.
Why am I so terrified?
Where were you while I cried?
No one understands.

Writhing.
Crying.
Sighing.
Explosions without warning.
No one understands.

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