Note just for you watchers: I might be busy doing other stuff so ... Good luck waiting on more drawings from me! >O<
Oh and I edit A LOT! So bare with me! >_< I have pet-peeves.
Hello everyone! I do not know what to say about myself right now. But all I can say, is that I love to draw! I usually draw pictures that matches songs I listen to or encounter along the way in Youtube. All rights go to the artists for writing those songs. Sometimes, I draw pictures that matches stories I come up in my head or just for plain fun.
Reason for name:
Gale = Wind. My favorite elemental.
Spider = My favorite character from any game. (From Megaman X: Command Mission)
The North Star once fell in love with a girl.
But she was only human, and she passed away.
When he first saw her, she was very young—fifteen, maybe sixteen, her hair falling into her eyes as she bent down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. She was so small in that field of grass, so golden in the daylight.
She took his breath away.
He floated downwards, hoping for a closer look. He was almost invisible, save for the hint of stardust that trailed behind him in the late afternoon sun.
Though he made no sound, she turned. The dandelion seeds sprayed into the air with her movement. Her eyes widened—such eyes, dark and dazzling, the color of liquid shadows and obsidian. He lost himself into those eyes, fell into them so deeply that he could not speak. They studied each other in silence.
"Who are you?" she said at last.
"I am the North Star," he said, in a voice as soft as the whispering breeze. "I come from the skies."
She laughed. Perhaps she did not bel
coele-syria.i fell. we became made
of inattention or absorbed space—
hailed imitations. so i abandoned dirt and fate.
our roads have filled, becoming an absence
and civilization all the same,
gathered sentences for stories to shape our states.
not all we winter winters underground,
so the call for an expanse. our moon is airborne
electricity, will soon cool; our streets fail by plane-line
fatality: what we leave behind and what is left of us
are related questions. we are replaced by the same dirt,
used to mass with perfect authority— our nakedness
was necessary, common,
still bleached from the wreck. so we orphaned destiny (us
progeny of voyagers, traders, the imperfect priest).
i ask entire questions to take this space alone, a kind of
violence that stretches around. we gathered to pick
cities and their rains, a formula for growing
it out. i fell for my mountains, so long ago.
they fell from my home.
FFM 2016 6: Birds Bring the RainThey ran through the rice field, crops crunching golden underneath their bare feet, Lucia bounding ahead like she always did.
“Wait!” Mateo gasped. “Listen! I. Need. To. Show. You. Something!” He tried grasping her saya, but it slipped out of his fist like buttery silk.
The sun on her shoulder, Lucia stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at him. By the time he reached her, her black eyes gleamed with starry glitter.
“What is it you wish to show me? Is it a new game for us?”
The stars twinkled.
“So you see, at the current state of things, weather at the archipelago is not exactly optimal. The infernal heat and the fickle typhoons do not entice investment. That is a fact.”
A cough from the American in the second row.
“But there is another thing that is taken for granted as a fact — that the weather is the domain of God, and that we humans cannot control it. But that’s why we are here today, gentlemen. I am
With a 4.0 You Should've Known Not to Drink PoisonA murder most foul, they say.
It’s a shame really. You had so much to live for. You had a promising career ahead of you; you had a good internship, a 4.0 GPA, you probably would’ve graduated top of your class.
It’s a shame you swallowed that arsenic.
I guess I can’t blame you though. It wasn’t really your fault. How could you have known that someone laced your drink with poison? But with that 4.0 GPA one would think you’d be smart enough to notice.
They talk about you a lot at the college. They say detectives have gone looking for you. Your parents are worried sick. No one really knows about the arsenic. I suppose they think you’ve just disappeared; kidnapped maybe. They’re worried; if only you could see them.
Sometimes I miss you so much I wish I could remember where I hid your body.
Wolbachiawhen it begins
Diao Chan knew of three ways to break a man's arm and had practiced them all several times in the short course of her life, for the most beautiful woman in China was often also the most harassed. That she knew how to defend herself made the situation twice as intolerable.
Broad nails bit into her shoulder as the usurper pressed her to his side, a crude display to the court and his silent, watchful son. Lord Dong Zhuo’s limbs were thicker than most, but she could still punish him. She thought of how satisfying it would be to snap his bones, sink her nails into his eyes and rip through his skull. But purpose was a bitter mistress and she stayed quiet.
Diao Chan was an orphan, a runaway, and a thief.
She lived on the outskirts of Luoyang, right where the boulevards of the Heavenly City bled into endless rice paddies fed by the threads of fresh, clean water from the Luo. Nobody knew who her family
Big and Little SinsFather, have I sinned? Karol wondered, for at least the hundredth time tonight. If it was a sin to listen at the kral's door, was it compounding the sin to speak those secrets? Surely not. Not if it saved a life. I will confess it tomorrow.
The boy ran as fast as he could through the halls ending in a breathless mess outside Svatopluk's rooms. One knock on the door. Two. A dishevelled woman answered, impatience in her sharp tone. "What is it?"
"I need to speak with with Svatopluk. Please." Karol leaned against the frame, putting his foot in the jamb in case she tried to close it.
"He's sleeping." She tried to shut the door and pushed only harder when it got stuck on the boy's shoe.
"It's important," Karol insisted. "Please. You have to listen!" He tried not to raise his voice, but up it went anyhow, cracking at the end.
The woman opened the door and glared at him. "Speak to him tomorrow at the feast. That is soon enough."
"It won't be. At the feast I'll
and we were angels dancing on the heads of pinsit has been a long year. i realize this over and
over again as i swing the car around country road curves
and eat up miles like i am starved for them.
my fingers are tight on the wheel, and it feels like if i let go
even for a second i will not regain control. all year i have wanted
to run away, and now i am here with nothing stopping me
your breath hits the side of the window
and billows up the pane. the music is a soft hum
in the background and the dying sun
tints the tips of your gold hair red. it has been
such a long year. i know you know this as well as i do;
we are both standing over open graves, moved to tears,
throwing in time zones like dirt to cover the bones
of the versions of us that had to die for you and me to exist.
it has been a long year, i say. it is time to move on, you say.
whatever battle we’ve been fighting has been won.
by who, i do not know,
nor do i dare ask.
it should be enough that it is over.
yes, there are too many days i trade feet for
Unreliable PoetI confess I don't remember
Whether you wore your hair down
Or tied it back into a sort-of pony tail;
Whether your dress was red with black spots
Or black with red spots,
Or something else entirely.
But I perfectly recall your smile,
Like Spring’s first sunshine
Whose warmth lingers even now.
I may have already forgotten,
The cadence with which you spoke
Your intonation and inflection;
The questions you asked me
And the answers I found
Down amongst the butterflies.
But I know that your voice
Was an unchained symphony
A spell of sweet restlessness.
I cannot forget, for I relive
Those precious, timeless moments