Some More Old Art I Found Going Through My Sketchbooks

some more old art i found going through my sketchbooks

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my art art traditional art ocs original art pen oc daniel

More Posts from Rumograph and Others

rumograph

4 months ago

some faces i liked in my sketchbook

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my art art traditional art original art pen pencil one of these is too blue but it doesnt look as good more purple so whatever i guess

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rumograph

1 month ago

Soap (Dexter Fletcher) in Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998, dir. Guy Ritchie)

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<3 look at him dexter fletcher lock stock and two smoking barrels

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rumograph

5 months ago

this year i will start listening to the magnus archives again and. actually finish it. maybe

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personal i am horrible with podcasts i like to listen to things while i do stuff but i also cannot process half of what is being said without reading it this is like the 3rd? 4th? time that ive tried listening to tma so not going very well farthest ive made it is episode 12?

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rumograph

2 weeks ago

new phone !!!! i can now do many many cool new things (start doing digital art again)

having the worst day today. tilted my phone the wrong way and the whole screen just. came off ! so tape is the only thing keeping my phone from falling to pieces at the moment. i am definitely fine with this and not upset about this

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personal Woo-hoo

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rumograph

5 months ago

merry crisis ! take these santas i drew

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my art art traditional art pen christmas anyways i sure dont want them !! scary ! but theyre fun to draw ... i guess ... havent drawn much recently though

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rumograph

4 months ago

People don't understand what I mean when I say that I've died a million times. I'm in a train and in each carriage is a dead child. They are dragged off the train, one by one, and I can do nothing but watch. It's hard to tell a dead child from a living one sometimes. I get off at Camden and think about what casket they'll sleep in tonight.

When I get out of the train station, my mind is full of nothing but the dead. I think about the suicide pacts I made with my ex. I call her on the phone, say it's been a year since I last touched a blade. I spend the next morning prying the blood out of my fingernails. I revise the ways I'll die over and over. Three bullets in my throat, one for each child I missed. I light another cigarette.

I stumble through the market like I can't see two steps in front of me - in many ways, I can't. I spend too long looking at the wrong things, trailing my hands across the painting of Bowie, buying orange juice instead of the record I want, walking across the rainbow crossings over and over; there is a dead child in me and London makes him sick. His body hangs limp in every window I pass; you learn to deal with it, eventually.

Every twelve steps you take are someone's last. I stay at the Lockside until I'm gagging on my words and I can't feel the rain on my back. I taste it on every breath; I am dead in ways people don't understand and I will die in ways they wish they couldn't. Outside there are bodies floating in the river and only the ones already standing with one leg over see them. I stay inside for another hour or two.

On the way home, all I can hear is screaming. I've always hated the underground. The screeching dies before it can reach me and all that hits me is the sobbing behind it. The underground is a burial the same way the road is a cemetery. There is nothing in the windows but my reflection slumped and rotting in the seats across from me. I wish I could find it in myself to mourn but you can only die so many times and still feel something towards it.

camden market '07 [13.01.2025]

(first piece of writing of the year !)

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writeblr writing oh well I tried rumos poetry parasite days not sure how good the image is on this one what do i tag writing with

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rumograph

7 months ago

for all the years after // do you see it

tonight the skies are full of light and
children more interested in the smoke
hands curling around the strands
desperate only to pull, reaching through
the gates to know what it's like to burn
they run until the air tastes bitter and
grasp at straws until their wrists ache
talking until they can feel the pavement
between their teeth instead of the cold
carrying nothing but the glow sticks around
their necks and handfuls of falling sparks
they will make these days feel the same
but they won't feel the years after
they don't see it now, and they never will
but the fireworks are sure close enough.

for all the years after // do you see it [09.11.2024]

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poetry poem original poem anyways original poetry rumos poetry happy one year to my other firework poem !! thought id write another since its been a year

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rumograph

4 months ago

A Bunch Of Car Sketches Ive Been Doing Recently

a bunch of car sketches ive been doing recently

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my art art traditional art pen maybe cars aston martin tesla alfa romeo i think i might like cars volvo xc90 giocattolo i think thats all of them car art

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rumograph

10 months ago