I thought so. No one else, really, gets the reference though, so I suppose maybe not so much. I was thinking about finishing it up and submitting to Threadless, but I’m thinking it’s not that great.

*sigh*

Lewis Carrol’s “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, from Through The Looking Glass

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright–
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done–
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead–
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
“If this were only cleared away,”
They said, “it would be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
The Walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head–
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat–
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more–
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed–
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.”

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
“Do you admire the view?

“It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf–
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:
“I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none–
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.

Here’s my version of an hourly comic journal. Granted, you’ll notice I only have four “entries” to span a twelve-hour period, but I don’t think my life is interesting enough for twelve panels. That, and I don’t have the patience. It took me long enough to get these done! I’ve continued with it, and I have sketched versions of most of Tuesday and even half of today. Hopefully they’ll go a lot faster than Monday’s went.

I finally got a hold of a scanner. I told you people I would, eventually! (It was a long time ago, and I won’t hold it against you if you don’t remember.)

When I went to Rome, ages ago (I’m saying this while casually waving my hand in a dismissive gesture and turning my nose up as high as it goes, don’t worry), my dad, sis and I stopped to watch these street performers.It was pretty amazing, and we took a picture and left.

Years later (a few months ago), I’m sitting in my living room, bored and in the mood to sketch something.

So this

turns into this

I can’t help but feel critical of it. The transformation from these rough-edged yet beautiful street performers into something soft and…. cute, it’s almost frustrating. I like my doodle, yes, but in a way entirely separate from why I like the photograph. I guess that’s the interpretation, but it’s unintentional. I wish I could capture the raw-edged beauty of the performers, instead of blunting their corners. I forget, sometimes, the connection between the inspiration and the doodle.

To keep him company

I really like my new pens, can’t you tell? And, you can’t see this part, but I also really like the new notebook I’m drawing these guys in….

I bought new pens. See?

His steely skin is covered
By centuries of dust
Once he was a great one
But now he’s dull and rust
An oily tear he’s crying
Can you feel the pain
Of the sad sad robot
driving him insane

he can’t turn back time nor history
so his life became a misery
he has to face the destiny
nobody cares anymore

Sad sad robot
Sad sad robot
Sad sad robot
All alone

He’s a sad sad robot
He’s a sad sad robot
He’s a sad sad robot
He’s so alone

(Jeremy finds me good music)