2 eyes.
BLOOB. 2017 Ink and blood on paper.

I like this too, there is something about it.....I have no idea what....that draws me. (y)
Thank you ntl. Has anyone had the feeling of being watched while alone in a w👀d.

I once tried to write about such an experience. I was about seven years old and the solitude, the reassuring closeness of the trees suddenly became suffocating. The canopy closed in and I panicked and ran until I spotted a clearing. Freedom! With fear licking at my heels, I ran as fast as I could. No sooner did I experience the relief of breaking out of the bushes, than, Bam! I was hit head-on by a car. The End. Well, it was for the fictional character 😆
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Oh, we excreted that a long time ago. What we couldn't digest, we crushed and spread around the garden. We obviously weren't as thorough as we believed...

human remains.jpg

The dog had to go. He knew too much.

The roses should look splendid this year🤞Fingers crossed.
I have to ask, whose blood is it...:oops:
The combination of the smiley 😲 with the question...

The blood...The blood was mine. I just heard Hal Douglas read that sentence. Hal Douglas as your mind's voice. Could be much worse. Could be the voice of the gang leader, Sid, from Police Academy. 😲
Thanks Nufocus. The blood is mine (a mere nick) but the sweat and tears are another's. 😊

I remembered you mentioning Auerbach. I saw a short produced by the Courtauld gallery on his immediate post-war paintings, and what he produced out of the rubble and rebuilding of a war torn London are pretty special. ("Pretty" is an affectation: they are special fullstop). Here it is, for the interested.
His determination to negotiate the steps and bring his find home was something to behold. It almost matched my reluctance for having the thing in the house. We would sometimes find a treat (a sausage for instance) stashed under his blankets a week after he'd been given it.