flip of a coin, draw of a card

“Just watch me.” -Pierre Elliot Trudeau

Happy Victoria Day long weekend! As much as it’s a holiday for some (and not), the weather is nice, so go out and get some fresh air. Unfortunately for me, fresh air was mixed with breathing foam in…I had this idea for a cosplay a while ago, but I didn’t act on it until today. The last week has been a lot of sleeping and ingesting antibiotics- in addition to strict supervision by parents (hence, lack of internet activities).

Anime North cosplay preparations on my front porch…I can get away with singing “Call Me Maybe” without embarrassment disturbance.

The real difficulty starts when I start on the leg plates. The gesso should hold on the styrofoam, and only other issue may be the running out of spray paint on Victoria Day.

Things to bring to Anime North (updated):
– cellphone to call people (currently in the process of collecting data to use for it)
– water bottle
– snacks/food
– 3DS, to Streetpass everyone!
– hand sanitizer
– tape (in case)

As much as I won’t take that many photos, I’ll take a few to remember this by. The fact of the matter is, I didn’t take any myself last year, and I ended with no photos, including no photos of the team cosplay I was in. ._. ZETTA-UNCOOL. So lesson, take your own photos, back-up your information.

Kuro-kun is going to meet a new roommate soon. Hope it works out well, because he really does eat a lot. XD

Anyway, off to go more minor- energy things. Not feeling too well, but I might write a post on “saving money,” what it actually means.

Not a whole lot of art posts lately. Hmm.

Winter Landscape, with Rooks
By Sylvia Plath
Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone,
plunges headlong into that black pond
where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan
floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind
which hungers to haul the white reflection down.

The austere sun descends above the fen,
an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look
longer on this landscape of chagrin;
feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,
brooding as the winter night comes on.

Last summer’s reeds are all engraved in ice
as is your image in my eye; dry frost
glazes the window of my hurt; what solace
can be struck from rock to make heart’s waste
grow green again? Who’d walk in this bleak place?


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