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i really fucking love shorts

Discussion in 'Smeargle's Studio' started by bombiron, Feb 21, 2011.

  1. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    i dont know if you know this about me but [​IMG]
    i like to wear shorts

    and sometimes do art

    i write write a bit in the writing thread as some of you know
    but i do quite a bit of visual art so im making this thread

    i dont draw a whole lot of pokemon related things
    but i most def will on request

    but heres some of my non pokemon work

    [​IMG]
    i cant imagine cinderella would even have to clean up much

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]
    stole some outlines from nastyjungle

    [​IMG]
    someone took a video of a really drunk chick at my school talking about an exceptionally large penis she has mounted.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    some of my photography stuff

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]
    theres a lot of shit on the left of this one from scanning but you can pretend i did it on purpose in the darkroom because im so avant-garde

    writing:
    story i wrote for someone (open)
    Section One
    I was biking to the park on my rusty green bicycle I had gotten to bike to work when I was fifteen. Listening to the spokes of the wheel clack against what was left of the plastic ends of my shoelaces I remembered. D how pissed off I was back then. Pissed off at my age, my parents, and the world. I seethed at the lack of respect I got just because I was a year too young to drive. I was pissed my parents wouldn’t let me get my nose pierced or my ears gauged, although now I’m relieved they didn’t. But mostly I was pissed off at the world. I was growing up in a lost generation of kids, choking down so many kinds of chemicals I couldn’t feel any emotion at all, let alone any of depression, anxiety, hyperactivity, or boredom. Locked in a country I didn’t believe in, and the country itself was trapped in between two wars. Two wars with a faceless enemy. One that may be the man next door with the shifty, slate- gray eyes, Perhaps the older woman who shops at the grocer you where you work.
    Exhilarated by the feeling of my short, boyish hair being pushed back by the wind, tousling it as if it was that one distant relative everyone has, The one who expects you to remember him, regardless if he last visited you when you were still crawling around and could barley construct a legible word. I check once again if my messenger bag containing my days work was firmly secure. It was good to be home, in my stomping ground. I knew these cracked sidewalks I walked so carefully when I was a child, negotiating my feet as to ensure the integrity of my mothers back. I knew the dip up ahead, the pothole I swerved around a mile back, and the hill I was always afraid of descending as a child, I laughed remembering how terrified I was when I was rolling down that hill the first time. Caterwauling so loudly I must have garnered attention from everyone in the neighborhood, just to find that the sensation it gave me behind my navel was quite pleasing, I doggedly tramped up the incline again, stopping at the top. Needing to rest my asthmatic lungs for a while before repeating the process, although this time shouting with glee, rather than distress. I remember the time when I was seventeen, severely intoxicated, and tried to replicate the results I got when I was a child. That was a fiasco. I got severe speed wobbles halfway down, swerving wildly three-quarters of the way down, and sliding down the last fourth, breaking my collarbone and spraining a wrist. My parents were furious; it was the first time they found out about my drinking. If only they knew to which heights my infatuation with psychoactives had grown since leaving home, and attending college.
    Entering the college wide eyed, and afraid, I quickly established a close friendship with the beatniks. My portfolio of drugs I had tried had expanded considerably from its humble beginnings of cannabis, alcohol, and tobacco. It now included Molly, Ritalin, Psilocybin, and even DMT once, (although I’m not sure if that counts because I coughed it all up like a green little pussy.) As I rolled onto the grassy lawn of the park and unwound the chain from underneath the seat of my trusty bicycle I felt a hand clap my shoulder. Startled, I turned around, not knowing what to expect, but feeling relief when I saw it was only my pal from high school, Geoff.
    “How you doing you little fucker?”
    “Fuck you for scaring me like that, you asshole” I replied

    Geoff was around five foot nine with a slight build. He was a joker, always getting into trouble, but was sharp as a tack, if lazy. This had come to be his enemy when looking for colleges that would accept him. Even with an impressive portfolio, Geoff only got accepted to the community college, where he studied visual arts in a dirty, (as are most) art room. I spent my eighteenth birthday posing for him to do draw. I still had the yellowing pages from his sketchbook, still caked with the dross of his charcoal, outlining the figure of my slight body, the lines of my sides, and the points of my small, hard, breasts. Geoff was a great artist, and was quite attractive, although he appeared to be asexual, even through his adolescence. He had offended quite a few of the local queen bees by his short, curt replies to their flirtatious communications, and, although he had taken a few on dates, he had spurned all attempts of the females to have a physical relationship with him. He had been known to cause quite a commotion at parties and was an absolute riot when stoned, which was most of the time. Geoff was also quite an asshole. His wispy auburn hair was never tamed, and he was a pain in the ass my modern standards to get in touch with. The only form of communication he had was a landline in his room, simply for the reason that he didn’t want a two hundred dollar brick in his pocket all the time. He had even been given a cell phone by one of his friends once, but he threw it down a sewer grate, much to the dismay of his friend. He said he didn’t want to pay money for something he had at home anyway. Geoff was one of those indie fuckers, almost a hipster, but not quite.
    As we walked slowly to the willow tree by the pond, our usual lurk, I noticed that he carefully planted his hemp clothed feet, slowly and in purpose. This was how Geoff was, his eccentricities generally accepted, if with some resistance, by adults. When we sat down, I took out my laptop as he reached into his many voluminous jacket pockets and took out a small folio and a pen and started to sketch ducks swimming along the glasslike surface of the water.
    As I relayed my experiences of college to him he took out a thin, tightly rolled cigarette and peered around the park before lighting it. He took a deep drag, and the pungent scent of cannabis hit me. We passed the joint between us, until it burned my finger, and than lit another. Spending time with him I realized how much I missed his company, catching myself wishing he was not so restrained in his sexuality. He finished his sketch and to me, reached down and tweaked one of my sensitive, semi-erect nipples, the cool spring air had lifted, he got up and walked away. I wasn’t too bothered by it, as it wasn’t uncommon for him to do things like that. I tried futilely to finish a paper that was due when I got back to school, but my wandering thoughts always came back to him. I realized this as I caught myself typing ‘Geoff’ and decided it was futile to make any headway. I resolved to go out and find him.

    Section Two
    I kicked off my beat up pair of green converse, and stomped off to my room, fatigued from my fruitless search, and cranked up the heat in my room and played a Smiths record, thinking of him, of me, and of what I was doing here. I realized I was still stoned, and dismissed all of these thoughts as bullshit, the inane ramblings of my altered subconscious. My mum knocked on my door and asked if I was coming down for dinner. I told her I didn’t have much of an appetite and would grab a bite to eat later. She agreed and went back downstairs. As I wracked my brain as to why I was so perturbed over the seemingly random encounter with Geoff, I didn’t even notice that the Smiths album had ended. I woke from my dazed, half stupor, and heard my mother and father arguing at the dinner table. My mother shouting that she was sure that she smelled pot up in my room, and was sure I was high. My father was arguing that if they learned anything for going to the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings with me, it was that trust is paramount to a healthy relationship, and that they had to trust me. He said that false accusations would only help shatter my already strained mental health. I heard a faint buzz from my bag, and felt a slight tremor course through the frame of my bed. I took out my phone and noticed that I had gotten a call from Geoff’s solitary phone in his room a few hours ago. Also, I had received a text message from my friend, Mindy I opened the message, a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach, the fine hairs on the nape of my neck standing at attention. All remnants of a buzz I still had from the marijuana left me as I read the words the message contained.
    Melissa. Geoff just killed himself. Call me when you get this.

    Trembling I felt my knees give out and buckle under me. I landed heavily on my mattress and, with my trembling hands I threw my phone across the room, if I had ever had any concerns of the sound it made when it landed of the floor after bouncing off the windowsill, they never reached my brain. As I shouted to my parents that I had to go to Mindy’s I was racing down the stairs, sliding in my socks, I took them two at a time, having known them for all my life, seven to the landing, two stairs to the right, and seven more to the ground floor. Pulling on my dirty Chuck Taylors, leaving the thin laces untied I raced out the door, before my bewildered parents could even form a protest on their tongues.

    “What happened next?” I heard, Shocked by the sound of a voice other than my own after talking for this hour, I struggled to keep the shakiness out of my voice I continued.

    I hopped on my bike, pedaling until my lungs were on fire, and felt as if they would burst out of my ragged throat at any moment. I skidded into Mindy’s driveway, and throwing my bike on her manicured lawn, raced up the three stairs to her house. Not bothering to knock I opened the door and barged in. Mindy’s mother looked up and said quietly that Mindy was in her room. I scrambled up Mindy's stairs and thrust open the door to her room, and found her lying on her bed, bent double, two thin lines of mascara painting her temples. I walked over to her and roughly pulled her up. We agreed to go to his house. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the passengers’ seat, screaming at Mindy to drive. When I was in sight of his small, red-sided house, tears had sprung unbidden into my eyes and perched on my eyelids, threatening to fall at any moment. We pulled into the driveway, his parents’ car nowhere to be found.
    As we walked up the driveway, Geoff’s neighbor opened the door, and told us that Geoff was in the hospital, with his parents, although he was dead when they left. We bullied out way inside and walked into our room sternly shoving the lone guardian of the house aside, his protests falling on ears blocked with emotion. We entered his room and noticed the extension cord tied to the post of one of his bunked beds. We leaned on the doorjamb, in shock. I noticed a folded note of yellow lawyers’ paper on his desk. I opened the well-thumbed note. It read


    Sometimes real eyes cannot realize
    What is happening in the real life
    And one needs
    To cast a shadow over the issue
    In order to see what it is
    That’s hidden by the light
    There’s a fog coming
    Rolling in from the sea
    One that can
    Cover me.

    “So I suppose that’s why I'm here.” I mumble, peering up I see the man’s kindly face. I glance down at my folded hands, but stop when I notice the dark masses marring the otherwise plain surface of the man’s notepad. Peering over the binding of his pad I see them clearly. Doodles of many things, small microcosms came to life on the fibers of the paper.

    “fuck you.” I say and walk out of the office haughtily, dropping my co-pay, a balled up ten-dollar bill in the doorway. I guess that’s what’s wrong with me. On the slow drive home on winding roads, through small, hilly, towns. I thought. I don’t know if the therapy had worked or not, but I felt a little better, having that lump that had settled in my stomach that day, three years ago, wretched out onto the floor of that assholes office. I hope it finds a new home in him.


    Show Hide

    please
    let go of my ears
    i know what i'm doing
    at least
    enough to still my knocking knees
    as i walk across the broad span
    of water


    shitty english assignment (open)
    I watched, as they walked by, as they always do, the rain inquisitively trying to catch up to them, tapping on their stooped shoulders, silently asking for answers they could never have, for how does one answer a question that is not inquired?
    Bah. I'm getting garrulous in my old age, romantically describing the subtle scenes around me. Not much else to do for a man like me.
    As I watched them flow and ebb as they went about their chores in the sallow monotony of the day. It seemed as of late, more and more of these dreary occupants of The City were being pressed out of some material my a great homogenous mold, popping out spry and dapper, ready to make a name for themselves. The dark, craggy, sky showed no suggestions of clearer whether. Not that it mattered much to me, stooped underneath a storefront awning, wrapped tightly in some scrap of fabric. As I tracked them with my expert eyes, they tried ineffectively to dash in between the raindrops as they fell.
    “Hey Mister, Spare a quarter?” I implored. He strode on, speeding up as he passed by me, feigning ignorance to my beseeching. His redolence was piercing, even through the rain I could smell the sickly sweet stench of the sample bottles of cologne he stole from his work, and dabbed behind his ears. In a veiled attempt to keep enough rancor out of my voice, but enough to convey the innuendo I called out after him, venturing tentatively onto the taught tightrope.
    “You know” I hollered “it’s now well known, but not all of us homeless are stung out junkies.”
    He turned around and intoned, in a strident and uninflected voice
    “You know, not all of us notice you bums” as he suddenly flicked a handful of change onto the wet ground, as if sowing seeds, Spreading them out just enough so I would have to brave the veritable deluge to collect the meager capitol. I was seething at this vacuous euphemism and felt my fists ball, my long, unkempt nails sinking slightly into the wool of my tatty gloves, but I needed the money, and thus was the life of a beggar. I hastily fixed the mask of indifference that was slipping off my face, turning my cheek as to not show him my perturbance. As I squatted down to pry today’s pay off of the wet asphalt, I turned around and jumped out at the man, wiping the sneer off his face, showing just enough crazy to make him think I was indeed a formidable foe. As he sped off, I counted the coins I held in my hand, enjoying the feeling of the rain cooling my fevered brow. I peered down trying to decipher the pieces I worked so hard to attain. My orbs searching, attempting to read through the dim light and around the steam that was emitted by my palm. I counted eight Abrahams and three larger Jeffersons, one Roosevelt, whose rough edges were slightly smaller than that of Abraham’s, and a weighty Washington, larger than all the others. And a bus token. I bit my lip at the emotions that consumed me, having sold my dignity to a man I did not even know for a mere fifty eight cents and one bus token.


    Show Hide

    i am but a shadow found in tides of noon
    let me take the weights off your mind
    because my back is getting broken
    from holding up the moon
    you should take a little snooze
    i will take the problems
    far away
    and place them deep inside a jar
    and them
    when you wake we will dissipate
    and leave them all far behind


    Show Hide
    let me get my needles
    and stitch you back together
    lets get closer
    to whisper and murmur the day away
    give me some more ammo to fight the night terrors
    and keep them at bay
    ill unwind the fabric
    from my camera strap
    your scent hits me like a train
    but i would never jump back
    as i smell that pink bandanna
    the thin reminder of you
    that once bound your heather hair
    nothing else to wonder upon but your musk on the air


    slam poetry/spoken word (open)
    you start to feel the doubt shedding, you stand paralyzed at this new sensation/ feeling sick as if watching a beheading, but instead, your letting the feeling flow through you/ in you/ out/ you try not to let it consume you. you hear the crick crack of the muscles popping and feel the bottle shudder and the cork popping. as you stand there hypnotized
    you realize
    your creativity shocks you with the barriers swept away. you think you might actually feel good today. aint no prozac peters or adderall abbeys that can hold you back throwin words at you just to bounce off your taught eardrums/ cant take this shit/ hold on a bit.

    you try to cut through all the blab/no bullshit. you say fuck today and as all the notions of the politically correct fly out/ they were trapped behind your eyes. you realize you can sympathize/ strategize/ hypothesize/ on the very meaning of what it is to be alive. you criticize and control your life and you step outta someone elses shoes and outta thier eyesight. you step back into you. in throught the mouth you pull your skin on/ correct your slouch. your alter ego flushed away/ down the drain/ all this fucking pain is back to haunt me.
    get back to work screams fucking Lurch your asshole boss. he catches himself wishing he knew the taste of your lip gloss/
    and i thought this might be a good day
    you snap back hear the click clack of the keyboards/ clear away the brick-a-brac, and drone on like the worker bee/ working for the queen/ the good little brainless fucking worker bee. you cannot decide you you want to be/ your identity crisis overwhelming/ the thought you have no say in where your going.
    start to cry/psyche broken, cycle broken! snap out don't you dare call out just drone on
    my little bumblebee


    Show Hide
    im thinking before i go to sleep
    missing you in bed
    maybe in just knee deep
    thoughts of you running through my mind
    blowing shit up
    but nothing of the important kind
    lying here my head is in the sheets
    trying to hold down my wheaties
    while thinking of you
    girl
    you control what im saying
    sometimes what i do
    like a Jewish puppeteer sniggering in between
    the pews
    i cant cry
    because ive run dry
    sitting here
    tasting raspberries
    and
    looking at the sky
    through this ceiling
    i imagine
    is twenty feet thik
    its sometimes hard to see
    what isnt laid out in front of me
    so spell it out
    dont leave me with these doubts
    becasue i cant think
    i'm being pulled
    draining down the kitchen sink


    Show Hide
    the air through here
    is stale and fake
    gone the chilly breezes that
    kept me awake
    lying here
    sweating through the mattress
    saturating
    this conversation isnt what i thought it would be
    as i gimp along
    i exclaim
    we dont even make three-quarters of one
    the shit that is forced is not longer fun
    the words you speak
    drowned out by my old bones creak
    and the disco beats humming
    the bass thumping
    this isnt what i remembered it to be
    im feeling a bit claustrophobic
    pressed in by
    unfamiliar skin
    sweat lubricates bare skin
    as alcohol does tongues
    this just isnt enjoyable to me
    i sit down and order a drink
    hear the records spinning
    the deejay think
    this dream aint no omen
    i think as i wake
    more boring than i thought it could be
    this shit is unappealing to me


    Show Hide


    hung up by the bootlace
    stranded in this latitude
    nothing to preoccupy the
    mind
    cannot get what is behind
    its already fallen
    you walked away and left it forgotten
    as you walk this dusty road
    wondering where your head is at
    you may have found it
    but it changes in a snap
    just as you were thinking
    over a box of cracker jacks
    should have spent your two cents
    on something low fat
    but it gives you something
    to gnaw on
    chomping on the gristle
    trudging slowly
    through the rainy
    drizzle
    ive had a fucking bad day
    mind is cemented
    thats where its at


    Show Hide
    circle
    the strangest of shapes
    wondering if it has an end
    it goes round round round
    thinking silly
    two dots and a line
    this shit just turned into a frown
    or is it a smile?
    just one big pile
    of jumbled up lines
    like a coke fiend desperate
    for a good time
    what are they?
    shapes i mean
    stuck in a world where nothing is as it seems
    aint got no spot to gleam
    laying there on my page
    perfectly round
    bought from the doggie pound
    should i return it to the
    dog house?
    get a triangle
    sharp on the outside
    dont care about no feelings
    on my insides
    was that a stretch?
    perhaps i should take a rest.






    if you guys like my stuff i will post some more and i most def write storys and draw shit on request
    however writing requesting is mainly a hay, write me a story bro! type thing
  2. Charmander

    Charmander mfw i have a mane and am actually the sun
    is a Contributor Alumnus

    Joined:
    Feb 22, 2010
    Messages:
    2,858
    You're not linking these right. Right click on your picture and go to "view image info" and copy the location, and paste that instead of the link.
  3. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    sorry for bieng a urethra charmander

    everythings up and i am ready for bidness
  4. Nastyjungle

    Nastyjungle fat and sassy
    is an Artist Alumnusis a Forum Moderator Alumnus

    Joined:
    Sep 28, 2010
    Messages:
    1,933
    i like your art bomb

    i really really do

    especially your france man

    oh and if you are doing requestss
    budews and magbys and magmars are always
    excellent choices
  5. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    thanks a load dude
    that means a lot esp from you

    i had everything else i knew about france in my sb
    but i was going to upload it to facebook and i have quite a few french friends who may be offended

    however! i figured out why france sucks at war

    the louvre is made of glass

    those who live in glass houses shouldnt throw stones

    hmmm?

    i was pretty drunk though so take with a grain of salt
  6. Nastyjungle

    Nastyjungle fat and sassy
    is an Artist Alumnusis a Forum Moderator Alumnus

    Joined:
    Sep 28, 2010
    Messages:
    1,933
    the french are the best at surrendering we cant diss them ok


    i monitor this thread eagerly for more updates
    i am most excited about your draws
    but i like your photos as well
    most def better than my amateur photography
    as well as your writes

    not bullshittin you i really dig this
  7. Staraptor Call

    Staraptor Call

    Joined:
    Mar 7, 2009
    Messages:
    1,422
    Good art - you already have a few Luvdiscs just five hours after you posted this. I especially like the use of line in your drawings.
  8. RitterCat

    RitterCat
    is an Artistis a Forum Moderatoris a Contributor Alumnus
    Moderator

    Joined:
    Aug 28, 2010
    Messages:
    1,881
    Ooh, I like your style. Try it on some pokemon (I am anxious to see the results)
  9. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    gyarados and dugtrio

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]
  10. ΩDonut

    ΩDonut don't glaze me bro
    is a Programmeris a Forum Moderatoris a Community Contributoris a Pokemon Researcheris a Contributor to Smogon
    Moderator

    Joined:
    Aug 23, 2006
    Messages:
    3,727
    Good choice of caption and expressions on Gyarados and Dugtrio. Dugtrio almost had me laughing to the point of tears.

    You have a great eye for this stuff.
  11. Nastyjungle

    Nastyjungle fat and sassy
    is an Artist Alumnusis a Forum Moderator Alumnus

    Joined:
    Sep 28, 2010
    Messages:
    1,933
    Show Hide
    [​IMG]
  12. Charmander

    Charmander mfw i have a mane and am actually the sun
    is a Contributor Alumnus

    Joined:
    Feb 22, 2010
    Messages:
    2,858
    I like it =) Something I would imagine that would be pretty funny in your style is a pants on the ground Zuruggu or Zuruzukin. Gyarados' poorly shaved beard and eyes had me laughing pretty hard there xD
  13. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    that concept is hilarious
    i tried to draw the zuru thugs before though and they turned out horrid
    i can try agin

    and nastyjungle that is the BOMB DIGGETY

    FUCK FEAROW

    note: zapdos and fearow are hard to tell apart without color
  14. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    yeah
    fuck scrafty and his little bro thee way to hard to draw

    so i drew some hentai for you guys to fap to

    NSFW (open)
    [​IMG]
  15. LeviLamprey

    LeviLamprey

    Joined:
    Nov 24, 2010
    Messages:
    1,158
    Shelmet and karrablast pic=epic hentei win. I like all the unshaven 'mons!
  16. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    where did al my luvdiscks go?

    kind of busy today gotta go get my car fixed and do some shit in town

    may upload a doodle later
  17. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    buh i hate digital art

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]
    did these like a year ago

    [​IMG]
    very first peice done with my tablet

    been distracted watching fooley cooley

    will upload some older sketches of non pokemon relatedness

    im the meantime a short poem

    Show Hide
    like pavlovs dog id be better off with artificial intelligence
    wouldnt drown on the growing ocean in my mouth
    but as it is
    im trained to spit and slobber
    and the sound of you siren song
  18. Zephyr

    Zephyr Life Stream
    is a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Researcher Alumnusis a Contributor Alumnusis a Battle Server Moderator Alumnus

    Joined:
    Aug 2, 2007
    Messages:
    1,325
    The Koffing is a beast for sure. I also like the one up there of Dugtrio rising to attack Fearow(I'm assuming Fearow)
  19. Charmander

    Charmander mfw i have a mane and am actually the sun
    is a Contributor Alumnus

    Joined:
    Feb 22, 2010
    Messages:
    2,858
    Koffing is amazing. I love your shading and flame-like texture on it. Best piece I've seen in a while (Yilx hasn't updated though >_<) Nice work overall.

    edit: just read your poetry ;_; :chaos:
  20. sax king

    sax king

    Joined:
    Mar 6, 2010
    Messages:
    769
    i really fucking love your art. You have a specific style that's really unique and all. A picture's worth a thousand words, but I don't have time to write a thousand words, so I'm just going to say that it's really good. Luvdisc'd.
  21. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    that was nastyjungles comic

    but i got some more older stuff

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    forgive the scanning quality these are like 1-1.5 inches
  22. JarardoMartino

    JarardoMartino

    Joined:
    Nov 1, 2009
    Messages:
    460
    I really like your art; It's odd in a good way! Hope to see more!
  23. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    busy vacation, did some photogpaohy for my friend's album, and shot/participated in a recording sesh. but my internet ran out so im on dial up until tuesday
    so no new shit for a while :(
  24. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    i gottza get some more art i left at school

    a lot of my time will be spent making huge ass prints

    like
    12x16 big

    thats fucking big

    lotsa doodles

    i really dont have any direction right now.
    any suggestions

    I NEED GUIDANCE
  25. bombiron

    bombiron

    Joined:
    Jan 16, 2010
    Messages:
    792
    god what is this, a triple post?

    [​IMG]
    t shirt design im screen pringting

    imagine enerything is at 100% opacity instead of 50%
    i didnt have time to brush in the purple

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