Muddy:

That is how my world has become.

 I have come to a point in my life where I can truly relate to the tree frog who, despite the conditions of his quagmire, of an environment, he is determined to climb upon the stems of success, that will bring him closets to the peek of the blossom, that is his dream achieved.

 It has been reported that after sending off more than 1,000 satellites around the planet, we still don’t know all of the secrets of the Amazon Basin, Antarctica, nor the mountains of the Himalayas.

 Oumuamua sneaks past the Earth on October 2017, originating from a direction our eye’s in the sky could not tell, and no one wants to talk about it.

 Stuart Russell, Frank Sauer, and Stephen Hawking all delved into an  Autonomic Weapons race, believing AI to be the future, “Whoever becomes the leader in this sphere, will become ruler of the world.”

Can’t wait until we all go back to slinging mud.

Expensive: Are the keys to the heart of Solomon.

(For those that do not know Alicia Keys, she is the woman dancing in front of the pyramids, I imagine that is what the Queen of Sheba looked like when she danced for Solomon.)  https://twitter.com/aliciakeys I suppose I should read her new book, "Tears For Water," to see what she is talking about.

 I spent nearly a hundred dollars on a piece of “Big Eye,” art, devised by a close friend of mine. Why?

https://www.deviantart.com/katiesapphire/art/Adventvoice-OC-portret-COMMISSION-769378391

Because I believe in supporting my local artists, those close to me.

Many of my closet’s friends share in my pain and happiness. They read my journals and are always good for advice. The thing is, if I don’t do my part, if I don’t give as much as I can, why would I expect them to give to me in return? Charity?

That’s not what this guild is about. It is expensive and well worth the effort.

Every pen stroke, every paint mark, every graphite trail, presents a view of the world that would have been lost. Before the digital advancements we have today, this skill was passed onto me by a “father figure,” who wanted noting but “perfection,” from me.

 Never was my art good enough because it didn’t look exactly like the muse I was setting to canvas. I was five when He first set me down in front of an easel and in the distance placed a picture of a lion. He asked me to draw the lion just as I see it. I was not to move until my sketch was exactly as the original image. He taught me how to not look at the image and allow my hand to recreate what my mind sees.

 This was an expensive venture, expensive and exasperating on the mind.

I have always been a fan of “Big Eye,” art and when I see it I like to commend the artist for achieving in a venture, I have yet to attempt but desire to do so immensely. I never thought I’d be someone’s muse of the very medium of art that brings me joy.   

I really have to apologize to my readers for missing the chance to really go into detail about the creative vampires I have encountered, over the years who seek to drain the beauty of creation out of the world. I feel I owe it to my fans to keep them informed of things they might miss due to our overly active life styles.

 Part of me felt it was to depressing to focus on. Many of my friends, my real friends who enjoy the work and the depth-perception of my hands. tell me all the time, to "Do my own thing."

Which I could have sworn that is what I've been doing. I never would have dreamed I would be suffering from poor people skills or passive aggressive tendencies. Honestly, I am the guy that meets a challenge head on and sends it away. Except I don't want to ostracize anyone or be ostracized myself, so I try to remain inclusive or open minded, pliable and nice to everyone. Think about it, I am the one that drew a Futa upon request. So clearly I am a loving guy.

Though I am kind, no one likes being "Drained," by creative vampires.

Well in light of new ideas that I desire to share with the world and the spirit of Inktober I present to you my newest idea:

I know it has been a while since I have submitted anything, or really have been around. I really should keep my thoughts to myself, if I am going to take so long to contribute or even show up. I would like to believe my saving grace is the fact that when I do show up, I show out!

Well, there are only a few days left in #Inktober and you know, this year it seemed like that not too many cared or even knew what it was. I mean the internet is a place where you can start a trend and over night it is the biggest thing all over the world. Yet all over the world, those with a pen and a tablet are made to feel like they can't draw, are artistically illiterate, unwanted deviants,  all sorts of negative vibes and Digital Art work is tough, I don't care what anyone says.  Yet no matter challenges we face, the one culture that I thought would be all inclusive and some what mandatory "Inking" and no one shows up.

Anyway, I did something that I have not seen and I felt others should try it. This year I wanted to give my support to Futa art and #Inktober at the same time. So I made "Breakable." You can find it in the art gallery.

The prompt list can be found at the Inktober Challenge group. (There is a link connected to the art at the bottom of the page) as you look around at the Inktober groups you will notice what I noticed, No adult art. As if because there is no color, or emphasis of digital mediums that their is no such thing as adult art. Well to each there own, but I for one love adult art. I love the stories associated with the art, or those that can be created and shared on the fly.

I just don't want to be the only one doing it.

Inktober is a time when you can practice your shading, technique, and delivery of a punch-line before you add the distraction of digitized coloring to a piece of art. I was wondering what themes for A-A could be illustrated with the rest of the Prompt Word List of this month and how best would those participating turn the ideas into something that will please the world of smut, and ink all at the same time.

I showed you an example of mine.
Now you show me yours.

Breakable:

 There was a time when I was trying to figure out how exactly I was going to incorporate my love for Futa into this years #Inktober commitment, and then I saw the word breakable.

 I went way back in my history of love and relationships and remembered the first time my son’s mother gave me head.

For the longest time I was against the idea. I just could not fathom the pleasure she received from allowing me to release in her mouth. I really felt it was a waste most of the time, but she loved it. The first time she did it, I really felt like I would break her. I was nervous for her and so I would do nothing but stand there and receive.

 Then one day she demanded that I give. I thought what more can I give? She began to tug in a way that would force me to move. Move I did.

Well we broke up and I never really did ever receive like that again.

I don’t know in the midst of the delicate escapades I find the women I am with to be delicate, breakable and I don’t ever want to push them too far, so I don’t.

Sometimes in the middle of the fun, they scream and tell me to back away. To give them reprieve, and I am so close to finishing, that when they fun I feel cheated. My patience is breakable and then we are set for another hour trying to finish.

Reaching a climax is such a job most of the time and it was only my son’s mother that ever made me cum with her mouth.

It is times like these when I witness the dance between two lovers do I wonder if the one with the sword ever remembers how breakable their partner is?

In most successful animated series, comical illustrations, manga’s, there are moments when the directors take a pause from the motif of a program and fill the daily discussion with, what we came to know as “Fillers.”

I could not stand fillers when I was growing up.

Feeling the programs where only 30 mins long, took forever to lead a story, and some of the best shows never had a plot anyway. What need was there of dragging on the program? I personally believed in keeping the story flowing.

Then I got older and have come to find, “fillers,” are good to keep the artists motivated to work at all. When one is made to draw the same thing repeatedly, I suppose it becomes stale.

Well to fill your need with something besides ink, politics, and my own personal feelings about life, for a moment I wanted to talk to you about, “The Occupation of an Artist & The Expectation of Compensation,” per-request and the disenchantment that occurs when monies for one’s talent is not forthcoming.

 To begin this “filler,” I must explain why my insistence upon compensation for this:

https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/love-letter-s-from-adric

 (project) made me feel like a shmuck.

The original idea was derived by a teenage Dr. Who fan who at the age of fourteen has an interesting crush on Adric. Wanting to see him in a cowboy hat, she happened upon my productions and thinking well of my talents, asked me to draw Adric in this manner.

I did not have a problem, fulfilling this child’s desires. I secretly enjoyed the thought that I could in some way be the hand that encouraged a fourteen-year-old girl to build a shrine of over charged, sexually energized, sensations around my handywork.

 Then I thought more about it and rationed that this crush she has with Adric is priceless. I began to wonder how I would have felt if I asked someone to draw Kandice Zimbleman @BlackUniGryphon for me because I happen to have a crush on her and then they charge me, and my allowance is dependent upon my parents, who are not going to fund my “guilty pleasure.” Or what I am able to collect out of my neighbors in the cul-da-sac.

At fourteen it is hard to imagine finding the cash to supply my need for a moment of fancy that no one but myself appreciates.

After feeling this empathetic moment, I quickly remember how I am the “starving artist,” and if I agree to an arrangement, request or commission, no matter how small the task their should be some form of compensation.

I felt I was being fair when I asked, her to appraise my effort and pay me as she see’s fit.

 That way a “request,” for art remains professional and not a mere trade of data.

So then I have to worry about the people that say, “She can just print it and not pay you: thanks to the internet she can always steal.” My response would have to be, “I am sure many have stolen from me, does not change the fact that I have given them something they felt was worth stealing.”

My name is on it. I feel a certain amount of pride in the idea of being or becoming infamous for the ideas of art I am able to pass on.

Remember, this century is nearly over the 22 century is coming and I want to be one of the voices to lead it. Keeping this in mind I hold onto the words of dear friends, “You need money-lots of it- to make a dent into the future.”

Part of me hates the thought that the crush of a fourteen year old can in some way be marketed to aid what ever dream I hold dear.

It’s really sad.

I did not even want to touch the project. Then their was a side of me that wanted to be able to say, “I can do anything a person askes of me with my pen.”   

To me that is always something worth paying for.

Scorched:

Honestly, I was going to leave political discussions alone. It’s Inktober and in a few days away, from social gatherings. And everyone is going to be remembering when they were young and throwing week old eggs at their cantankerous neighbor.  

 The Sunday comics around this time used to have very little political conversation to laugh about.

Then I open the month of October’s addition of the Times Magazine to the Society’s page, which is entitled “Pulling Equal Weight,” by Irin Carmon, who ventured into a Swedish village that seeks to defy the laws of nature and scorch the very fabric of masculinity from the world.

 As I am reading, I am trying to figure out how the rise of sexual violence due to immigrants, or the alleged impropriety of political leaders and the howling of Kamala Harris or the “fire dance,” of the #MeToo Movement, equates to a need for men to have governmentally organized “days off parental leave?”

Why is the Times Magazine allowed to turn everything into politics and there is no rebuttal paper written? Why is Irin Carmon allowed to call Richard Nixon a communist, while at the same time suggesting the government should have the ability to economically impose upon an individual’s home life, like they do in Sweden?

How is it “liberating,” for a man to be given a ‘stipend,’  to stay home for 480 days per birth with three months assigned to each parent for something they have to do anyway?

I remember how when me and my son’s mother where dating she would get upset because she felt I was not giving enough or putting myself in a position to lose as much as she was, and I was always looking for gratitude from her for the things that I did do. In her words, “You don’t get kudo’s for what your supposed to do.”

Why is Carmon allowed to lie and suggest American’s are learning to love Big Government?

The other day the sell and manufacturing of marijuana was legalized, not ‘decriminalized,’ as it was propagated. After reading all of this, ‘scorched,’ is any idea of holding back disorder and toxicity.

Now everyday I must read crass attempts to flesh out alleged feelings and the inner heart of “men,” from developers of “A Million Little Things,” on ABC, like it’s a good thing.

All in the name of ‘scorching,’ masculinity.

Why is a Swedish, feminist government, ideal for America?

I am asking, why is communism preferred over a democracy? Only in a Democracy am I allowed to ask the question. In a federally controlled America the “national curriculum,” will supersede my personal space and this is supposed to be ok? Why, because the nurturing hand of a woman, will be at the reins?

  I personally don’t care if it is a woman or a man in charge, common sense must aid in reason that by scorching amendments: Scorching law and order and poisoning the minds of our youth with drugs, sex, perversion, will only give rise to the very ideal you seek to burn.

When an ideal threatens patriarchal standards and begins to raid the homes of peaceable people, pro-family and anti-government activists, decent people, with homesteads will being to push back against the fodder in the hovels of Amsterdam, Detroit, South Beach Florida, Miami, Over town Miami. Flint Michigan.   

 I would get upset with my son’s mother, but she was right, no one gets extra points for what they are supposed to do. She was wrong because we were not married, the only thing that stopped me from scorching our arrangements, was the idea that I loved her, I did not see her as a whore, and despite her choice to use and abuse my kindness for her by sleeping with other men for money, I chose to be their for her and by doing so…

 I felt a little like Irin Carmon, believing that my feminist girlfriend can be my equal, my partner-outside of marriage and we’d be ok… “What A CROCK!”

She burned me so bad I still carry the pain in my heart.

Not against her, but the philosophy that did little to empower her.

I guess I remain so burnt up about it because I will never see my son, behind her desire to prove she never needed me in the first place.

Birgitta Ohlsson claims Sweden to be the most gender equal country in the world.

Robin Miriam Carlson, known for Body Talk and enjoying the paintings by Caravaggio, the Italian Baroque painter, was suffering from depression and in an interview with Sam Larsky, suggested she is 40 years old and dancing on stage and honestly can’t cope with death, maturing in the matters of the heart that give us our drive. She has made no provision for the future, secure in the idea that pleasure, woman, and femininity will run the world.

We will see.  

Bottle?!

I’ve been saving a lot of ink for this one.

I’ve been excited about introducing a very special character I made years ago. The bubbling and self-assured “Bar-Fly,” by name of Star-light.

During the Great Recession/Depression of 2008 until God knows when this will end. I would visit bars to play music and fill my hat with enough money to send home and reward my efforts with one beer.

Every beer was like a send off prayer to my son’s mother, my mother (each woman assisted in watching my children while I traveled to earn enough money to pay bills, I never reaped the benefit of paying.)

My “bar-fly,” would arrive on days when I felt at my worst.

When I felt I would never see daylight on my debts or be able to pay rent and keep from sleeping in a cardboard box. When I lived on the coasts, East and West, I did not worry too much about rent. The beach was fine to sleep on and when I was too far inland or in the mid-west, I had my tent.

It was a rough and lonely life but whenever I felt like I was swimming in a pool full of molasses and morphine, she would always be the first to give me a lift.

“You know Dream Weaver, you never could do without the motivations of a woman, to goading hand of her caring advice, to keep you out of trouble, why not take that blond home, the one who keeps starring at you?”

  I would always smile at my bar-fly and assure her, that if she would sit on the lip of my bottle, I need not the comfort of another woman. Besides I have bills to pay and can’t afford to give anymore money away to heart breakers.

 It is 2018, ten years later and my daughter is gone now. So, I don’t have to worry about sending my mother too much money, of course her bar-flying nature will rise and I’ll receive the phone call on Christmas, suggesting how no good I am because I wait until she calls to send her money.

  My son’s mother claimed years ago not to need me and that’ll never see my son again, so there is no need to send money, I have not written, nor seen hide nor hair of those two, yet no matter how bad I feel I can always expect my bar-fly to give me a lift.

She would say, “Remember you are the artist that in one tweet can pull the ear of 1,693 impressions, 26 engagements and a 1.5% rating as you challenged your readers to look for the Greatest people of the next century, those who would be able to survive the Lehman Brothers fall.”

Her quips suggest I am the artist that in two years’ time has managed to earn 31.3K impressions monthly, with my illustrations, blogs, journals and stories about the life of a “traveling, starving, artist.”

She asked me once, “Do you know why I don’t leave you? I know you don’t drink anymore, and you are living a quite life, no more traveling. I am hanging around because you were the one guy that no matter how drab a day became, you never once lived in no trash can, you kept us away from druggies, and you drank one beer and only on Christmas, to remember the birth of your son. You will find him soon and you never gave up looking for him. You spoke so much about him in our travels, I want to meet him one day. That is why I am still her.”

All those reasons and I still don’t know if she loves me, but it is nice that she cares.

 Swollen?!

The only thing swollen now is my ego. The mere thought of a beautiful women supplying me with pictures of their legs that would make every man in world blush, makes it hard to tell if it is because I am such a great artist or if It is because I have a way with words.

 Either way I won’t be able to walk straight for a week.

I had promised to do this project for a while now and kept putting it off due to lack of proper, prompting, motivation.

 In 1965 a beautiful woman was born, who would later find out after numerous children, a wonderful marriage, that she had the ability to capture the attention of a man twenty-three years her junior.

At times I wonder if I can do anything at all to maintain and levitate the ego of such a woman who by modern standards, “has it all.” In truth, what more could I do for such a woman?

She has done more for me in the brief time I’ve known her. Out of all those who have had the choice to interact with my galleries, she has endeared herself to my collection of work.

I’ve always been “fixed,” that way you know?

I am not the most attractive man, so I seek to make up for this by developing attractive art and it does a man’s heart good to know my work’s are something she is willing to share with her loved ones, or friends. Because of this I try not to be overly crude in my presentations.

I have run off a few supporters that way, in the name of freedom of expression, I expressed too much and showed my youth.

Despite all of that immaturity, she laughs with me in ways that makes me both love and disdain the distance that is between us.

Her support has swollen my appetite for the defense of art, the internet, and the communicative ability we have achieved in our “global,” community. When she was growing up and those older than her, never perceived a time in which, in less than the time it takes to devise a thought, messages could be passed, money transferred, books written and published, or the consistent prodding’s of a young admirer, insisting to keep her spirits lifted in the most trying periods of her life, could be seen on her phone, desktop, television; and all of it for no real purpose besides swelling her ego.

Never in wildest of dreams would she have thought someone could or would want to take the time to immortalize her in the history of contemporary art.

Ink the lines that make up the very smile with has affected my waking moments in the most delightful of ways and I am willing to say it, all in the name of swelling the ego.

Now, I the Dream Weaver, must share this disclaimer before I continue.

There are those who would challenge my claim to nurturing a swelled ego. They would suggest this behavior to be base and no different than a pig courting a pig.    https://www.deviantart.com/adventvoice/journal/Mystery-of-the-Woman-753983115

I despise such thoughts, always have and always will. There are those that would teach of a mythical honor in humility and constant debasement of one’s gifts. “To each their own,” I say.

When I see a beautiful woman, I will say it; and I plan to capture all the worlds beauty with my pen.

Until the canvas swells to swollen.

Angular:

I was sitting in  the dentists office yesterday and noticed the feet of those passing by.

 Watching feet, because it’s time I buy new Spurries and I am annoyed that I am the only one who cares. No one has offered to supply me with new ones this Christmas. It is fine. I will shell out the cash to handle everyone else’s affairs and right before the snow falls I will re-supply my feet with comfort.

 As I am noticing the angular feet that pass me, the woman in her 80’s next to me notices the woman’s shoes, who looks to be about mid-thirties. Ankle high top boots, pumps, that have a six inch heel to die for. Well for men such as I, who believe angles, makes a woman, va-va-voom.

The woman in her 80’s asks, “What is she trying to prove?”

I decline to answer. Such signs of jealousy do little to attract my attention.

She was madly disturbed by the woman’s angular appearance; inwardly she was attracted to the idea of how she used to be and outwardly resigned to feeling to old to wear pumps with six inch heels that made her a foot taller than her 5’5’’ frame.

 The woman in flats, though she may be arched under the sole, tastefully, can do little to compete against the staccato of the stiletto heel.

According to the Marriam Webster Dictionary- angular can be used to describe someone who is stiff of character or manner, lacking grace or smoothness, lean and having prominent bone structure.

That is interesting to me because I have always been partial to a woman of angles. Especially in the feet. The most graceful feet I’ve seen are those of a nurse and for her to protect herself from the dangers presented in Planter Fasciitis, she should wear a shoe that provides support and cushion in the arch, she should have proper heel support and an excellent arch. If you are flat footed the shoes made for nurses are angular and set to correct the cause of the wear and tear of the feet of a graceful nurse.  

 It just made me question the motivation of Marriam Webster to suggest an angular nature to lack grace. As if to suggest a little voluptuousness of nature to be more warming and desired of a woman, opposed to the lean and prominent bone structure, many woman desire and condemn their peers for not obtaining.    

Weak: Are those who as the wind blow, bend and break upon the will opposed upon them. Those when asked to stand upon their convictions use the door of appeasement and believe it is the same as peace.

Arizonian Senator Jeff Flake lives up to his name. I won’t be voting for him if he ever sought the presidency. He has the stench of a John Kerry and John Edwards. Men who allow the audience to control their judgement.

Charlotte Alter, author of “What’s Changed since 2016,” Is a weak and unimaginative writer, comparing the Kavanaugh Case with that of Trumps case as one of men and women and the inequality presented in the power struggle of influence. Each case being described as men getting away with crimes, opposed to men proving their truth.

Weak is the idea presented by Aryn Baker, that feeding fish in farms flies, bred in fly farms on command in over 200 facilities would make for a viable alternative for food security in a world determined to believe, sustainability of our food sources to be a challenge, with a burgeoning population. Weak is the idea that Steve Carell can produce a movie, “Beautiful Boy,” which in all rights could be used to condemn drug usage or the sell of it and then to hear how people trade stocks in opioids.