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i'm slowly loosing my mind. but thats okay, i never really liked that mind.
  • Listening to: melodic expressions of emotion
  • Reading: again
  • Watching: insufficient frame rates
  • Playing: whenever the ps3 decides to read the disc
  • Eating: chapped lips
  • Drinking: saliva
i just realized, i'm not supposed to be here...
  • Listening to: whatever the zen chooses for me
  • Reading: blurbs with indecisive frustration
  • Watching: fox mulder being naughty and disobedient
  • Playing: dictator of peace and harmony
  • Eating: chips
  • Drinking: teas
fREAKY pICNIC by Ace-McGuire

freakypicnic.blogspot.com/

Hey all BIG BIG news myself and six other artists (some you might know :iconhorsescrycheese: :iconkevmcnamara: :iconheavy-metal-noise:)have started an art blog for some fun and to be able to work together, its gunna have just random sketches and running themes so I urge all my watchers to support it and the other artists on it and keep the love coming!

Its a sweet chance to see fan art and originals by us so if your hungry join us at the fREAKY pICNIC!!!
We're all really excited about it hope you are too!

fREAKY pICNIC is a collection of art students based in Ireland attending courses at B.C.F.E.

We're all at different levels, with different interests and alot to offer.

All collaborating in a fREAKY pICNIC!

We are Geoff Patchell (Mondays), Kevin Mc Namara (Tuesdays), Mark Stokes (Wednesdays), Brian O' Sullivan (Thursdays), Emma Petersson (Fridays), Ciarán Doyle (Saturdays) and Luke McKeogh (Sundays)

Every day there will be a sketch posted here, random sketches or running themes, each artist posting on a certain day of the week.

So come on down to the fREAKY pICNIC, chill out and enjoy!!!


fREAKY pICNIC by Ace-McGuire

freakypicnic.blogspot.com/
  • Listening to: audio tracks
  • Reading: text
  • Watching: visuals
  • Playing: no, working
  • Eating: in a minute
  • Drinking: my own saliva
Things that are real (obviously! pssh!);

- Mark Hamill does a flawless impression of Harrison Ford.
- Animals have souls.
- Fish are animals.
- Pigs taste delicious.
- People can't look up.
- My shoulder hurts.
- Most of the time abortion is a good idea.
- Dinosaurs are cool.
- Idealism can save the world.
- Most flies are pricks.
- The news is scarier than horror films.
- Bacteria and viruses are forms of life.
- My spirit guide has a terrible sense of direction.
- The book is usually better.
- The truth will set you free.
  • Listening to: pa strum his banjo on the porch
  • Reading: silly opinions
  • Watching: a bit more horror
  • Playing: twisty turny colour square cube
  • Eating: plants and animals
  • Drinking: superwater
Certainty I envy. Those who have belief have a solid reality, physical and/or metaphysical. To have your mind narrowed to one perspective must be relaxing. To be able to dismiss the countless other feasible possibilities must be reassuring. Empirical evidence escapes me, when experimental or controlled conditions can in no way ever recreate the unique moments of NOW, and therefore not really prove anything except that that thing happened then, that time. Belief spawns reality. On an individual basis it creates the perspective of the world shared with others, inner reality. On a mass scale it changes the world. And in a world of people living and dying for their beliefs what do I do? Do I live? Do I die? Do I even exist? I certainly don't believe. I could go on and on but its hard to commit when you have an inner nay-sayer constantly going "this is why that's not real..."

Forgive me father for I have sinned. I've travelled to the edge of the world with the wind of the greats in my sails, only to find it goes on and on, in every direction possible.
  • Listening to: anger from one side, love from the other
  • Reading: dangerous right now
  • Watching: fire
  • Playing: catch up with the universe
  • Eating: more but still losing weight
  • Drinking: to ease the hurt
Post-traumatic intercostal hernia . When the intercostal muscles split and pressure in the chest cavity pushes part of the lung through. He wouldn't say it was pain, no, he would say it was pain. Some pains become background sensations when you've suffered so long though. Like if you live in or near a city. The silence you get has an underlying and habitually ignored dull hum. To become aware is to hear every layer of sound. To feel every wave of pain. He hasn't been able to take a full breath in a long time. Partially suffocated for most of his life. "Lack of oxygen in the blood can cause anxiety" the doctor told him. "None of us can breathe, doctor, we're all anxious." "I'm talking about your health." "I'm talking about our lives, doctor." Trapped, bound in breathlessness, adrenalin surging, fight or flight, the beast is on your chest, you're paralysed, a 200 bpm tribal drum pumps through your body and echoes in your head as you're pushed and pulled in and out of reality. The doctors have a name for it. A name they learned while studying in their youths. A name they've said thousands of times before. A background diagnosis. He doesn't even listen to them anymore. It reminds him of being born, when it happens. Afterwards you just remember being reminded. The therapists have words they learned too. He doesn't listen to them anymore either. It reminds him of death, when he looks back. Then he wonders how he can remember death. He sits in a rippling rain puddle of life-noise. Fear and anxiety, phobias and deficiencies. All he hears is silence, and the ignored hum. Learned words cross his vision and continue with their lives. The drums start...

He stands up, takes the deepest, longest breath he's ever wanted to take... Pop!
"Well isn't that something?"
  • Listening to: you. Go on.
  • Reading: the blurb first
  • Watching: out
  • Playing: kick the can
  • Eating: premature sugar puffs
  • Drinking: yeah, but not just yet.
Y'see there's a little pink thing. Like a half inflated balloon with frightened eyes.  
And there's a grey thing. Like a wooden mannequin, except it has no physical form, but if you thought about it later you'd imagine a grey mannequin.  
The Pink thing cowers behind things like discarded car seats, big slabs with skin like human and a woman shape a man said was his girlfriend. The pink thing makes not a sound, but is constantly screaming. Pink thing is dehydrated.
The grey thing strolls around like it fucking patrolling or something! It not a fucking police! Grey fucking thing am not letting anything happen, for fuck!  Grey thing am scared as much as pink thing be. But grey thing is have machine and space cloud.  These items, though utilized with intents of defense, serve only to attract predatory metaphors and malicious similes.
Bad things happen to the pink thing and the grey thing.  
The pink thing broke the world once, so the grey thing built the machine.
The pink thing broke the world again, so the grey thing captured the space cloud.  
The pink thing broke the world for a turd time, so the grey thing was all up in the pink things grill with the "Aww! Look watcha did!" And the grey thing kicked it's machine and spit towards the space cloud.
it didn't reach.




And then the pony's wish came true and the princess spiralled into a viciously heartbreaking depression and threw herself from the highest, most dazzling tower of the palace. The handsome prince followed soon after, for he was a homosexual and his father was a large biggot.
An end.
  • Listening to: the creak of the dimensions swelling
  • Reading: headwaves
  • Watching: temporal folds
  • Playing: third-person reality
  • Eating: mine own psyche
  • Drinking: tears of a homeless god in Paul McCartney's bath
I liked John Turturro and Shia LaBeouf displayed likeable mediocrity, but the CG was sub par. I mean, am I supposed to believe that that's really Megan Fox's top lip. C'mon!
  • Listening to: what the flower people say
  • Reading: time
  • Watching: the void
  • Playing: with the natural order of things
  • Eating: whole nebulae in one go
  • Drinking: god
A wise man once said, "I don't know." Then he lost his mind and died of enlightenment. You call him god. I call him Santos.
  • Listening to: my nodes
  • Reading: frequencies
  • Watching: the grid
  • Playing: sci-god
  • Eating: potential
  • Drinking: time