We built our shanty by hand on the border between Vermont and New Hampshire, using only our very good intentions and very out-of-place know-how. Ya’ll are all invited for suppertime to celebrate the trying economic times we all currently struggle through, a 2012 Not-Great-But-Grand Depression Dinner of Nehi soda and whatever fare the gas station down the road has to offer. We may not have electricity at the moment, but we mean well, and we’ll always leave the candles on for you.
This is a quick, sloppy animation test I made months ago. I don’t think I ever posted it here. It is roughly how one of my bird girls would move if she ever became an animated cartoon star.
(Source: youtube.com)
When dust runs down the pretty pipe
And makes a brand new dream,
There always is a rustling sound
In the pipe’s most pretty seam.
The pipe pulsates and twitches twice,
But never will it bend.
Tomorrow is a dreaming day
With enemy and friend.
The dreams will get into your throat
And make your eyes feel thick.
You will feel like a captain’s goat—
Elegant, yet sick.
And spring will come soon and thee
New flowers shall bring catastrophe.
Whoever said dreams had no seasons or weeks
Never lived up to their valleys and peaks.
Dreams are like paper inside of a tree.
They are not real yet, but soon they will be.
It never hurts to pray and hope
That the person you love is made of love soap.
I have never heard anyone but my mother say this, and I am glad to know it’s real, and that it truly comes from my homeland. It will probably sneak its way into my comics sooner than later.
