Brown Sanders

Schtünk!

fiiiiiiINEE Philadelph

crindeee [at] gmail.com

Pages

epigraph

BS Photos

Bs Writs n Bits

I draw letters

License

Ask

Archive

RSS

Theme
  1. hyperallergic:

(via Pixels and Peas: A Supermarket Digital Drawing Odyssey)
hyperallergic:

(via Pixels and Peas: A Supermarket Digital Drawing Odyssey)
    High Resolution
  2. Comments
  3. Who can make politics beautiful? Jaswinder Bolina. Listen to this shit. BUNNY!

  4. Comments
  5. When you were one

    (A deep bow to the wonderful Tess Lynch, whose conceit I totally used)

    When you were one, your voice was a car you were taking out for a test drive. You singsong accelerated, you screeched to a halt just to test the brakes. Your voice cut corners to carry up stairways, it swung curves. You idled, cooing.

    The floor was your sounding board and anything in your hands was soon introduced to it. You wanted to make objects talk. This was your language when you were one: thwack, crack, thud, clack, whack and the tinny rattle of a lid, revolving. You made this language with your very own hands and you wanted to hear it back till you’d mastered it. Each sound that sounded the same was an affirmation; each sound that was different rang of discovery.

    When you were one, the outside world was vast and magnificent, so full of people, trees, cars, stoplights, sirens, fences, storefronts and smells that you went quiet. Stepping out, you stilled the ignition to watch out the window awhile. You were solemn at the sight: its lushness, its clamor, its expanse. You took in basketball games standing just shy of two feet high behind a chain link fence. You stared down grown women until they capitulated to your cheeks, your smile. You blew raspberries at strangers till they laughed aloud, then you laughed, too. You fell in love with a big brown dog just watching him come and go. At the playground, you yelled AAAAHHH! at big kids passing. AAAAHHH! was your best word, AAAHHHH! was your aloha, when you were one.

    When you were one, your house was a farm. The fridge made the milk and up from the counter popped bite-sized bits in rows like crops. The voices on the radio were clucking chickens and a candy-colored mat was your pasture. Your changing table was a pig pen and you—many animals at one time or another, but never a pig—wanted OUT. You writhed against the arm posts, you kicked and wriggled free. You were done with lying around! You wanted movement, you wanted action, when you were one. And when you got it, you were the best dog of the farm, endlessly chasing lids and blocks like birds.

    Books were the lull in your day, your motionless transport. When you knew your books by heart, you wanted to understand the makings of them—their fronts, their backs, how they held together and all the leaves of words. The alphabet was your soundtrack and your sentinel, when you were one. It played on repeat while you played. It stood guard alongside animals while you slept.   

    When you were one, your blanket was more than stich and material. It made you moony. In its green fuzz and scent only you could smell, you burrowed your head and came up blissful. You fit your blanket like a ladybug on a leaf or a koala amidst eucalyptus. Your blanket was a bit of magic, imbued with the love that had grown the bud of you. In it, you reveled, rolled, nestled and swooned.

    Your crib was the big tent and you were the star acrobat. Every feat you performed had its debut there. When you showed what you’d taught yourself, you glowed with joy. You tumbled giddy and glad, arms arced, lolling like a buoy. Grinning! Giggling! Oh, the pride was palpable, when you were one.

    The grand finale, you performed unwittingly. This last act, feat of feats, was glimpsed through a crack in the door. It happened after the shades had been pulled, while the dinosaur curtains swayed softly in the dark and the pig pen and pasture stood still. It happened when you were curled quiet, nestled in fuzz, arms spread like a starfish and little head laid down to sleep. There, silent at the sight of you, grown hearts swelled. When you were one, you swelled hearts in chests through the crack in the door, laid down to rest, the only sound the creak of the floor.

  6. Comments
  7. crocket:

Sarah Dougherty A Home is Medicine
crocket:

Sarah Dougherty A Home is Medicine
    High Resolution

    crocket:

    Sarah Dougherty A Home is Medicine

    (Source: theories-of)

  8. Comments
  9. Name: Goodbye Weekend
    Artist: Mac DeMarco
    Album: Salad Days

    wienerherzog:

    Mac DeMarco - Goodbye Weekend

  10. Comments
  11. Anonymous said: just watched all your youtubes- i like your twitter profile pic- with your- visible pores & dr pepper lip smacker- feel like i should email you- but i wont

    Go ahead and email! My communication channels are as open as my pores

  12. Comments
  13. Mesh by Maureen N. McLane

  14. Comments
  15. tumblropenarts:

Hef PrenticeTumblrFlickr tumblropenarts:

Hef PrenticeTumblrFlickr
    High Resolution
  16. Comments
  17. White hot red gold White hot red gold
    High Resolution

    White hot red gold

  18. Comments
  19. As if T-Mobile is music’s big dick idiot boyfriend rebelling against high school. MUSIC IS NOT A TEENAGER, IT IS AGELESS GO BACK TO MARKETING SCHOOL U TURKEYS As if T-Mobile is music’s big dick idiot boyfriend rebelling against high school. MUSIC IS NOT A TEENAGER, IT IS AGELESS GO BACK TO MARKETING SCHOOL U TURKEYS
    High Resolution

    As if T-Mobile is music’s big dick idiot boyfriend rebelling against high school. MUSIC IS NOT A TEENAGER, IT IS AGELESS GO BACK TO MARKETING SCHOOL U TURKEYS

  20. Comments